


Something There That Wasn't There Before

by toastbabeis



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: 18th Century, AU, Alec isnt really an animal cus thats gross, Angst, Beast!Alec, Beauty and the Beast, Belle!Magnus, Child Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Burn, WIP, but i might suck at that, but youll enjoy it, essentially youre gonna hurt, just warning you now but i will put warnings before each chapter, malec performing poetry to each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-10 09:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastbabeis/pseuds/toastbabeis
Summary: Beauty and the Beast!Malec AUAlec is raised in an abusive household, causing a coldness to develop in his soul as he grows; a coldness far too similar to his fathers. A witch preys upon that weakness and gives him a chance to prove himself. But Alec fails, and is cursed to a life in the shadows, every move made to remind him that he is turning into the man he once feared.Magnus lives with his mother in a small, countryside village in France. Made an outcast by simply having an education, he longs for a life outside the confines of ignorant minds. When his mother is captured by a beast in a weathered castle, Magnus gives his freedom for her safety.A spell curses one, and freedom curses the other. Will they be able to get past their own troubles and find love?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody!! 
> 
> So this a Beauty and the Beast!Malec multi-chapter fic!!
> 
> I'm beyond excited to post chapter one for you guys, but I need to make the disclaimer that while I have a lot of lines and scenes that follow the movies/original story, I will be changing some bigger parts (aka Alec isn't an actual animal).
> 
> Some warnings:  
> -Descriptions of child abuse/reference to child abuse  
> -Descriptions of scars
> 
> Special thanks to the love of my life, Liv, who I couldn't have written this without. 
> 
> I don't really have much else to say except that I hope you enjoy it!!

“Isabelle, no,” Alec says, rolling his eyes at his sisters pouting bottom lip. “Mother and father won’t be back till tomorrow night and you know fully that when they’re not here, I’m in charge.” He turns away from her and rounds the corner of the west wing, heading towards the main staircase.

“But, Alec,” she whines, her voice dragging out his name as he walks away from her.

He hears hurried footsteps behind him as Isabelle attempts to keep up with his long strides. She may only be three years younger, but he has almost a full foot on her. The clicks of her heels on the marble floor slow as she descends each step carefully.

When Alec reaches the final stair he spins to face Isabelle, who is several steps above him. Her hair is pulled out from her face, save for a few pieces that always refuse to stay in the confines of the hairstyles their parents force on her. He smirks at her frenzied expression.

“Stop babying me. I’m 14, and I should be able to go out with whoever I want, whenever I want!”

“Isabelle, I said no.” His voice takes on a tone far too similar to his fathers for his own comfort. “I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but the roads are dangerous at night and it’s storming. Not to mention, Father told you not to be around the village people anymore.” Alec shifts uncomfortably where he stands, exchanging weight between his feet.

The mark on his neck burns, but he digs his nails into his palms to suppress the itch.

“But, Alec—”

“Isabelle.” He tenses his muscles in hopes the need to rub the scar stops.

“Alec, would you just listen—”

“Isabelle,” he pleads, his fingers coming up to rub his neck. The spot is raw and although it hurts to the touch, it soothes the overwhelming memory.

She notices the act, nods her head, and shuffles her feet down the steps till she’s able to wrap her arms around him. She’s one of the few people who know, along with the staff, what their parents do to Alec when he, or any of his siblings, step out of line.

Alec remembers the first time it happened clearly. Alec, Jace, and Isabelle convinced one of the staff members to take them out to the village. Isabelle has always been the most sociable out of the three siblings, and even at five years old she was yearning to have other friends. After weeks of persistence, Alec gave in and agreed to sneak out.

It was a harmless outing, considering they had Luke accompany them. He was the musician hired to perform at every ball and dance, and although Alec knew that Robert was his father, Luke had always been the one to comfort and help him when he was in need.

When the group arrived back at the castle several hours later, Robert and Maryse were standing in the entryway with murder in their eyes. The siblings looked at one another, the laughter dying from their mouths. Before their parents approached, Luke stood in front of them, physically shielding the children from backlash. He tried to defend them, his mind set more on their safety over his job, but Maryse wasn’t taking it. She barked for Luke to go inside, where she would discuss his future working in their home. He knelt down to give each child a kiss on the forehead before vanishing into the mouth of the door.

Robert told Jace and Isabelle to go up their rooms at once and roughly grabbed Alec’s hand, yanking him to his office.

His father pushed Alec into the corner of the room, like a predator playing with its dinner. Alec hunched over. His back was pressed against the wall, the wood carvings sinking into his skin. He stared down at the ground, but Robert pinched his chin and forced him to look him in the eyes.

“What in God’s name did you think you were doing, Alexander?” his father yelled, his face mere inches away from Alec’s. “Answer me!”

Alec had dealt with his father’s anger many times before, but somebody else was always in the room. There was always a witness. This time around, Robert made sure it was just the two of them.

Behind his back, his father didn’t hold any weapons bar his own hands, but that didn’t diminish Alec’s terror. His fists were shaking at his sides, tears already welling up in the young boy’s eyes. His cries and whimpers filled the room.

When Alec finally exited the office after around 30 minutes, bruises littered his body, the marks on his neck the most prominent. He waited until he heard the click of his father’s bedroom before he curled up on his bed and cried. His face was wet with tears when a knock sounded. He froze in panic as the door opened, but to his relief, it was Luke who entered the room.

In between cries, Alec began apologizing to Luke, knowing his mother would never be light with punishment; she always had to make it known that she ran the house, and everybody’s lives were in her hands. Luke gently informed him that he still had his job. At the time he didn’t tell Alec that he would be unpaid for a full year. Instead, he told Alec that it was not his fault, and that he’s sorry he wasn’t there to protect him. Alec sniffled into Luke’s shoulder and hugged him tighter. He found some relief in knowing that Luke would there to protect him, or at least be there for the aftermath.

After a few minutes, his siblings trickled in. The same gasp upon seeing the purple marks along Alec’s neck and arms came from both Jace and Isabelle. His sister immediately began crying, the tears falling onto Alec’s sheets. She apologized profusely for convincing him it was a good idea, but Alec didn’t blame his sister for one minute.

Jace joined them on the bed, placing a comforting hand on Alec’s knee. He rubbed at his eyes, smearing the tears across his cheeks. Alec couldn’t bear to see Jace and Isabelle upset like this. He decided then that he would much rather take the force of his father if it meant his siblings would be safe.

That wasn’t the last time Robert laid his hands on Alec. With any misstep from his children, Robert never missed a chance to teach him a lesson. He would tell him his worthlessness on this planet. How he wouldn’t have to do this if Alec simply followed his rules. How it was Alec’s fault. And he believed him.

And with that belief, coldness developed in Alec’s soul. He felt himself growing angrier over the years, the same anger he saw in his father. And he couldn’t stop it.

Alec looks down at his sister and blinks away the tears from his eyes.

“I just want to keep you safe,” he finally says. He shivers at the thought of Robert every laying a finger on her. He can keep control of his temper around his father, but he honestly doesn’t know if he would able to stop himself if he hurt his sister.

“I understand,” she says, a worried look still on her face. She grabs his hand from where it’s rubbing at the marks on his neck.

“Alec!”

He turns around to see his younger brother, Max, bolting towards them.

He doesn’t have shoes on, his bare feet making no noise on the marble. The blue shirt he’s wearing is hanging out in several places and the ruffles on his chest fall flat. His hair is in knots in several places throughout his head, and Alec can see several visible stains on his jacket. Who knows what mischief he’s been getting himself into.

He smashes into Alec’s legs, his chest moving quickly up and down. Isabelle giggles next to them.

“Yes, Max?”

Max grabs onto Alec’s hands and pulls himself up so he’s standing atop his older brother’s feet. Max barely reaches his waist and he can fit his entire hand into his own palm. Alec was just as small at his age, but nowhere near as energetic. 

“Clary won’t play with me anymore and I’m bored,” he moans, sporting the same pout Isabelle wore minutes earlier. His blond hair falls into his eyes, and Alec laughs as Max attempts to blow the strands out of his face.

Clary is Luke’s daughter, and she moved into the castle along with her father when he was permanently hired. Once she got older, Maryse put her to work as their personal tailor. Clary is extremely talented with a needle, Alec has to admit, but he would never tell her that to her face. The two of them never agree on anything and he doesn’t particularly like being around her; she’s practically another annoying sibling.

“Max, she’s probably trying to do her job,” Isabelle offers, her face softening as she speaks to her younger brother.

Isabelle is always extremely protective of Max. Although she’s 10 years his senior, she’s the closest to him in age and understands him more than Alec or Jace. Alec often finds Isabelle and Max sitting on his bed, telling stories to one another or sharing secrets.

Max jumps off Alec’s feet and goes to hang off his sister’s dress. “Will you play with me?” he asks, widening his eyes like a puppy.

“Have you asked Jace or Simon?”

“Yes, he has.”

Jace and Simon enter the room, Jace’s arm resting across his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“And when we said no, he kicked Simon in the shin and ran off,” Jace says, narrowing his eyes at Max.

“And it really hurt, might I add.”

“Max,” Alec and Isabelle sigh.

“I didn’t do it!” he quickly defends, stomping his foot into the ground.

“The bruise on my leg would say otherwise,” Simon mutters.

Simon has been working at the castle for a few years now, and if Alec is going to be honest, he can’t remember what he does—or did. Alec is almost positive he got fired for messing up the decorations at a party about a year ago, but he flies so under the radar that his parents haven’t noticed that he’s still here. And they definitely have failed to notice that Simon is dating their son.

“Max,” Alec begins. “You cannot kick people. That will not be tolerated in this household.”

Max whines and crosses his arms. “I didn’t do it!”

“You’re lying to me. I can practically see the bruise from here.”

“I am not!” Max yells, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Apologize to Simon immediately.”

“But I didn’t do it!”

“Maximilien. You hurt Simon and you will apologize to him at once!” Alec raises his voice.

“But father never apologizes to you!”

“Max!” Isabelle gasps, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Alec can feel the room’s eyes on him. Very rarely is this brought up, and Alec didn’t even know that Max had noticed. Alec can feel the anger bubbling deep inside of him, his hand twitching to touch his neck, and he can’t stop himself from losing his temper.

“Go to your room. Now!” His voice is hot in his throat.

Max’s lip trembles and his shoulders shake as he runs up the stairs. When he reaches the top, he turns around and screams through his tears, “You’re mean, just like Father!”

Alec squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t even realize he’s scratching his neck. He knows Max is young and doesn’t understand the impact of the words he’s saying, but it doesn’t stop the scars from resurfacing.

“Alec,” Isabelle whispers.

“Don’t.”

Isabelle doesn’t hide the hurt from her face, her eyes downcast. She turns around and walks up the stairs, following Max’s trail.

Alec sighs deeply, one hand clenched at his side while the other rubs the marks under his ear. He can feel his nails digging into his skin, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He welcomes the feeling openly.

Behind him, Jace places a hand on his arm to comfort his trembling brother. The touch doesn’t stay for long as Alec hears two pairs of footsteps leaving the area.

His siblings know that when he’s angry or upset, he needs his space. While he appreciates their concern, there’s no use trying to reason with him. He hates that he can’t control his emotions and lets it out on his siblings, the people who understand him most.

He’s become ignorant to the similarities he shares with his father. He doesn’t want to be like the man he fears, but that’s exactly what’s occurring.

A noise startles Alec from his thoughts.

Several clear knocks sound from the main door and Alec furrows his brow, the lines on his forehead deepening. His parents weren’t supposed to be back till the next night, so who could be on their property at such a late hour?

He looks around the entryway for any member of the staff to deal with whoever was behind the door, but the room is completely empty.

Alec strolls towards the door. The intricate detailing of the wood illustrates the tangled vines that cover the castle walls when spring awakens. The designs are carved carefully into the walnut, flowing down from the very top and bundling into the door handle, which reflects the light from the candelabras lining the entryway.

When Alec has the door cracked open, it takes him a few moments to register the guest.

It’s an old, stout woman, seemingly a beggar by the state of her clothing. Underneath the hood of her coat—if he can even call it that—is a braid of matted, gray hair. Her hunched posture has Alec having to physically tilt his head to look down at her, and water soaks her clothes. The woman’s long nose, which is accompanied by a mole, slopes down towards the ground.

Alec clears his throat and shifts in his place. “May I help you?”

The old woman smiles, her slack jaw tightening slightly with her grin. She shuffles closer to Alec.

“I got caught up in the storm,” she says, coughing several times in Alec’s direction, who backs away from her trajectory. “I would like some shelter from the rain, and in exchange, I shall give you this.”

She raises a shaky hand, the age spots evident even in the dark of night. Her bony fingers enclose the stem of a rose, which only has a few wrinkled, brown petals holding on for dear life. A leaf falls from the flowers base, landing at the tip of Alec’s leather boot.

Alec narrows his eyes and flickers them between the rose and her gummy smile. He sees that she doesn’t have a full set of teeth, which is common among people from the village. “So,” he begins. “I’m exchanging shelter in my home for an already perished flower?”

“Yes—a rose in exchange for one night in your home.”

Alec thinks back to his parents, who have turned away more than their fair share of beggars. They always explain it the same way: _These beggars come to our home, looking for free services. We work hard for our money. They aren’t working at all. We cannot cater to the poor, for their status of wealth is their own doing._

At first, Alec did not agree with his parents. He argued with them when he was young on a number of occasions, stating that they should aid those who are struggling. In his naïve mind, it seemed like the right thing to do. In exchange, his parents told horror stories of beggars entering people’s homes and robbing them in the night, or stealing secrets from the families they took advantage of.

Alec never dared argue back to his parents as he grew older, since he knew the consequences. And over time, he began to see his parent’s point of view. He knew that they couldn’t help every poor villager seeking help. It just wasn’t feasible.

The anger from Max’s words combines with the frustration that a villager could come here and equate a dead flower to his home, and his irritation grows.

“I don’t think so,” he denies, already shutting the door.

“Wait, wait, my Prince!” Alec turns back to the woman, his patience growing razor thin. “Do not be deceived by appearances.” She pushes the rose even closer to Alec’s chest. “For beauty is found within.”

Alec scowls at the woman’s words. He hears enough from his parents and he doesn’t need a common beggar to teach him anything.

The flower is pushed against the buttons of his jacket. He knows if his father were here, she would’ve been outside the premises already. In fact, he was being kind allowing her to stay under the protection of the awning for this long.

He grabs the handle again and violently swings the door to shut it, but the end of a wooden staff jams its way between the walnut and the frame.

Alec aggressively opens the door, ready to throw her off the property himself. The bright golden lights blind him before he has time to process what’s unfolding before him.

* * *

_3 years later_

Magnus grabs the first baguette he sees on Jean Pierre’s stand.

He smiles warmly at the older man, who has flour smeared across his brow. “Bonjour,” he says, carefully tossing coins into the metal cup on the table. “That should cover it.”

The man laughs, the sound mingling with the noises of the market.

“Magnus, you always give me too much,” he says, scrambling to pick out two or three coins.

Magnus shakes his head. “I’m merely giving you what I think you deserve for the finest baguettes in France.” He looks down at the bread he is holding in his hands and places it in his basket, making sure not to dirty the book already taking up some of the space. “Au revoir,” he sings as he waves goodbye.

The town square is already rumbling with the sounds of bakers bickering with buyers and mothers controlling their children. Flowers cover the ground below the window sills, where the longest are knocked off their stems by the opening and closing of wooden shutters. Magnus bends down to pick up a burnt orange peony at his foot and tucks it behind his ear before continuing on his way to the bookshop.

He passes the local butcher hanging up the fresh meat of the morning. The man has an affinity for Magnus—I mean, it isn’t hard to notice the longing stares, and it definitely is hard to ignore the free rabbit every few mornings. Magnus doesn’t complain, though, because he gives the rabbit to people who are not so fortunate to have a roof over their heads and the money to purchase such fine goods.

He throws a wink to the man, noticing the deep, pink flush that quickly appears on his face. The man—Jean? Jacques?—hurries back inside, where he’s given a slap on the head from his superior. As Magnus walks away, he hears the words, “Pick anyone, but not that one.”  

Magnus is well aware that entire village finds both him and his mother odd. Since the day they arrived, every villager made it crystal clear that because he reads books in his spare time and his mother works on clocks that they are not welcome. The whispers are hard to ignore. Gossip is pervasive in the town, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t escape the insults.

The bookshop comes into sight, and Magnus pushes the negative words from his mind.

It’s the one place he can go to be completely free. He’s whisked away to enchanted castles and faraway lands. He forms bonds with talking animals and watches relationships bloom between royals. The words of the village are forgotten when he steps foot inside his hideaway, so it’s no surprise he’s a regular here.

He opens the door, the familiar creak of the hinges hitting his ears before he sees Père Robert dusting off the tops of the shelves. The smell of parchment fills the room, battling with the scent of fresh bread just outside the walls.

The bookshop is quaint and mostly empty, except for two or three bookcases that are filled. The binds vary in height, width, and color, making the shelves chaotic looking, but Magnus doesn’t mind. He finds comfort in the broad variation of stories waiting to be told.

Light seeping in through the open windows emphasizes the dust dancing in the air. With each swipe Père Robert makes, the sunlight manages to catch each small cloud.

“Bonjour, Père Robert,” he says, the bell on the door sounding as the wood contacts the plate to prevent it from swinging freely.

The man startles from where he stands atop the last ring on the rickety ladder. He grabs onto the shelf for balance before turning around to offer Magnus a warm smile.

“Bonjour,” he returns, carefully stepping down the ladder one step at a time. “How’s my favorite patron? Finished already?”

Magnus hurries to his side to return the book he borrowed and to begin searching for the next tale to escape in. While he isn’t normally one for poetry, he had to say Jacques Delille wrote in such a way that Magnus’ heart was taken on a journey in a few short stanzas.

He nods his head, his eyes searching for the empty spot where the poems once lived before he took them home. Père Robert, knowing the shop and each books correct place, plucks the pages from Magnus’ hands and places it an empty spot above his head.

“Thank you,” Magnus says, giving a genuine smile. “Finished it just this morning; it wasn’t my normal pick, but I can appreciate a good poem when I read one.”

Père Robert is one of Magnus’ only friends in the village. Maybe it’s simply because Magnus is part of the small group who actually come in to borrow books, but whatever the case may be, he appreciates the companionship.

His eyes flick over each bind in front of him, trying to recall if he’s read them already or not—in a good number cases, he has. When a person spends their days getting lost in romance and sword fights, after a few years, it’s difficult to find new content.

Once he gives up trying to find something new, his eyes quickly lock on the light brown cover he knows well: _Roméo et Juliette_. His thumb reaches out on instinct to brush the leather bind that has comforted him on many winter nights. He smiles at the memories that filter into his mind of reading to his mother when she was ill, the play being her favorite as well.

Magnus takes the book from its spot and holds it up to Père Robert. “May I borrow this one?”

The man laughs heartily from where he’s rearranging books. “Magnus, you pick that one out every few weeks,” he says, swiping his brow of sweat from the heat of the spring sun.

“It’s my favorite!” Magnus can’t help but let his voice rise when he discusses his beloved story. “Sword fights in fair Verona, a two day romance ending in death—I mean, what more could you desire?”

Pere Roberts eyes light up. “If you like it all that much, it’s yours.”

Magnus begins to shake his head and pushes the book towards the man before his words can catch up. “Monsieur, I can’t—” 

“But I insist!” he says, holding his hands up in surrender and refusing to take the book back.

Magnus’ heart flutters with the idea of being able to have the physical copy of his favorite tale; to not be bound by only having a few of the scenes memorized. He stares at the cover, the title written in cursive letters that loop around one another.

He looks up to Pere Robert and places a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you very much,” he offers, unsure of whether that’s enough to thank the man. “Here.” Magnus reaches down into the basket still hanging off his elbow and grabs the fresh baguette he purchased from Jean Pierre, replacing it with his new possession.

The man frowns and crosses his arms. “I can’t take this from—”

“But I insist,” Magnus says with a wink.

He waves goodbye to Père Robert through the open window and hopes his genuine smile convinces him how appreciative he is.

Magnus begins his walk back to the house, but decides to stop by the fountain in the center of the square to begin reading. He pulls the book out as he’s making his way towards the bubbling sound of water.

He approaches the fountain and sits on the stone, careful not to knock the basket into the slow stream. Despite the bustle of carts, carriages, and people surrounding him, he’s able to drown out all other sounds and get lost in the pages.

It takes Magnus a few seconds to notice a figure standing before him, coughing to gain his attention. He manages to ignore them for a few seconds, but once they grab the book from his hands, he’s forced to face them. And god, he wishes for anyone else but her. 

Camille Belcourt. The richest, most sought after person in the village. Men and women alike swarm to be of her acquaintance, and many more have their hearts ripped out. Magnus believes her money is the main reason people scramble to be around her, but he honestly can’t fathom anybody dealing with her presence after their relations, even if there’s money involved.

He can admit, though, her looks definitely have to do with her popularity. Her raven hair is pulled back into a low hairstyle, curled for extra bounce with every step. Her angular face makes each expression murderous, which may also be why she’s unchallenged. She’s terrifying.

Beneath her charming smile is a wicked person. Magnus has witnessed her banning a man from the village for stealing an apple for his starving daughter. The farmer he stole from said it was nothing worth of punishment and that the man could pay him back when he had the means to do so. After a ten minute conversation with Camille, the farmer readily agreed with the harsh punishment. Despite ruining an entire family’s life in front of the praying eyes of the village, she remains unparalleled. No one dares go against her wishes and whims.

While Magnus also knows firsthand the horrors of Camille, he can’t say he’s been immune to her charm. He was pulled in, like a siren calling for victims, and it took every ounce of strength to escape from her clutches. She was the reason he went to the bridge on that quiet night, to end the suffering she instilled, but Magnus was weak no more. 

Since the end of their relations, if he keeps his nose out of trouble and his hands remain clean, Camille has no claims to kick him out. Not to mention she has been once again vying for his hand in marriage for months now, and she’s nothing if not persistent.

“Hello, Camille,” he says, finally looking into her ravenous eyes.

“Your nose is always stuck in a book, Magnus.” She rolls her eyes and casually tosses the book over her shoulder. “You should open your eyes and appreciate the beauty surrounding you.”

Magnus sighs deeply and pushes past her, locating the book a few feet behind them. It’s sitting in a mud puddle and he can see the pages quickly soaking up the dirty water. He rushes over and picks it up with his forefinger and thumb, letting the mud drip off the cover.

“I’m loving this view,” Camille purrs as Magnus stands back up.

He sneers, but doesn’t say anything, knowing he needs to be the one to keep his temper under control.

He turns around and shakes the book of excess water, splashing mud onto his jacket and onto Camille’s pristine dress. Normally he would be rather upset getting his most favored clothing piece dirty, but the annoyed huff from the woman standing across from him makes it worthwhile.

She laughs, the sound anything but genuine. “Oh, Magnus.” Her hands attempt to work out some of the stains from her dress. “You do have…interesting priorities. Always have.”

“Was there anything you wanted in particular?”

She stops fiddling with her dress. Her long legs take her into Magnus’ personal space and she presses a hand onto his chest.

“You know what I want,” she says as she traces patterns over his heart.

“I didn’t hear it the first fifteen times. Do tell,” he deadpans.

Camille laughs again, and Magnus hopes she doesn’t feel the way his body shivers at the bloodcurdling sound. With her free hand, she runs her fingers lightly over the orange flower still settled behind his ear.

“I want you,” she says almost aggressively. “I want us to be husband and wife. We already have a deep bond, so we might as well solidfy our love. Don’t you want that?”

Magnus lightly grasps both of her hands from where they’re resting on his body and places them at her sides.

“Camille,” he sighs. “Finding you in another mans bed is enough to tell you that our bond was anything but deep. Besides, you know and I know that a relationship between us doesn’t work.” He walks back to the fountain to place the sopping book into the basket. She follows him with her piercing eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Magnus, my darling,” she says, not taking his answer as final. “Just imagine: the two of us sitting in a lovely cottage we built together, with our young ones running around.”

Magnus visibly shudders at the thought of having children with this woman.

“So you also want us to have children?”

She smiles broadly. “Why of course! We’ll have at least five or six to carry on the family name.”

“Which would be…”

“I assume the kids would carry on my last name, but nothings set in stone.” She forces a smile, placing one hand on his arm.

“As charming as that sounds—”

“Magnus, my dear—”

“Camille,” he interrupts. “I’m very sorry, but I will never marry you. Now please, excuse me.”

He can almost hear her roll her eyes before she sings, “I’ll see you soon, my love!”

He begins the path back to his house, completely throwing out the idea of reading by the fountain. It’s much too risky being out in the open when Camille is on the prowl.

It took years to become accustomed to the village. Although he’s gotten used to waking up at 6am to feed the chickens and tend to the vegetation before the sun comes out, he’s never been able to bring himself to love the small town. He wants more than this provincial life can give him, but his mother’s happiness will always be his priority. And for some reason unbeknownst to him, she enjoys her life fixing clocks in this tiny village.

Of course he tries to indulge himself every now and then. Magnus believed Camille was in it for life, and he’s had flings with some of the locals over the past few years, but those encounters have dwindled as rumors of his family spread. Magnus is fine with it because he doesn’t want to be with anyone who believes education is something to be laughed at, anyways.

He’s toyed with the idea of having a secret dalliance with the boy from the meat shop, but the kid seems like a genuinely nice person and he wouldn’t want to bring his reputation down if they were ever found out. He’s even come close to giving in and accepting Camille’s advances, but he refuses to let himself revert back to that weak and desperate state.

Magnus knows that he’ll escape the confines of the village one day, but for now he aims to be content. His life may not be as exciting as the stories he loses himself in and that’s something he learned to accept a while ago. Not everybody can have a fairytale life.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Magnus is yanked out of his thoughts as a carriage misses slamming into his body by mere inches.

“I’m very sorry, Monsieur. It seems I was lost in my own thoughts.”

The man scowls in his direction and Magnus can make out the snarling of words like “outcast” and “strange.”

Magnus ascends the ricked steps up to his front door. He ignores the possible splinters as he lays his forehead against the ragged wood. He stays for a moment to catch his breath before he’s stumbling forwards with the sudden opening of the door.

He catches himself before he has a chance to hit the small table near the entrance, but he’s not quick enough to save the basket, and the book sitting nicely within it, from flying further into the sitting room.

Warm laughter fills the house, the culprit still standing with her hand against the doorknob.

“Apologies, my dear boy,” his mother says while he gains his balance. She doesn’t sound exactly sincere when she’s giggling. “I thought I heard a knock on the door.”

“It was my head hitting the door. Maman,” he says dramatically, placing the back of his hand over his eyes for dramatic effect. “I’ve had an incredibly exhausting day.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve only been out for thirty minutes,” she reminds him, a smile still laced on her soft face.

“And what a long thirty minutes it was.” His mind suddenly perks up, and he runs over to where his new book lies on the ground. “Look what I got!” he says, sounding like a small child.

He picks up the book, careful not to get anymore mud on his jacket, and hands it over to his mother. Her eyes widen immediately and her face beams.

“Is this for me?” she asks excitedly, already grabbing it from his hands.

“I believe Père Robert said, ‘This copy of _Roméo et Juliette_ is for Aulia’s incredible son Magnus, for without him, this town would be fully illiterate. Oh, and not to mention his dashingly good looks add some variety to this drab village,’” Magnus teases. “Or something along those lines. I may’ve paraphrased a bit.”

His mother shakes her head at his words and continues to stare down at the book lying comfortably in her hands.

She stands on her tip toes and presses her lips to his forehead. “Thank you, Magnus.” Before she walks away, she places it back into Magnus’ hands. “But I don’t want it when it’s soaking wet. What did you do to it?”

Magnus feels the mud covering his fingertips. “It’s a long story.”

He reaches up to grab the peony in his hair, and tucks it behind his mother’s ear, who smiles in return.

A comfortable silence falls between them as Magnus works to dry the book and his mother finishes working on the latest clock repair she’s been tasked with. The words from earlier in the day replay in Magnus’ mind.

“Maman?” he asks almost sheepishly.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Do you think I’m odd?”

From where she sits at her desk, she makes one final click and smiles at her finished piece. For a few seconds, her eyes follow the movement of the hands on the clock, completely mesmerized. Once she’s satisfied with the product, she looks over the tops of her glasses.

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “People don’t try to hide their feelings in this town.”

She gets up from her seat, placing her hands on the arms of the chair to help gain balance. She shuffles over to the compact couch and sits down next to her son, the seats dipping.

“People don’t like what they don’t understand.” She rubs small circles onto Magnus’ back. “Small towns lead to small minds.”

Magnus believes what she’s saying. He knows firsthand that ignorance comes from a lack of understanding, but when he’s at the end of their comments, it’s hard to accept.

“But just so you’re aware, you are odd. You have a spark in your eye like your father.”

Magnus’ ears perk up at the mention of his father, but she quickly moves on from the subject.

“You wait, and you’ll find that this town will begin to mimic you. People always criticize others differences until those differences become normal.” She grabs his hand and squeezes it.

He internalizes her words and helps her pack up the cart for her trip.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you, Maman?”

She smiles affectionately. “Don’t worry about me, Magnus. I make this trip every month. I know the trail like the back of my hand.”

He knows she can track this trail in her sleep, but her going by herself always rubs Magnus the wrong way. But she’s never accepted help from anyone and she’s not starting now.

“I love you, Maman. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Stay safe.”

He watches as the cart travels through the arch that leads to the forest, and doesn’t take his eyes off her until she’s completely out of sight.

He spends the rest of the day drying _Roméo et Juliette_ , and once the pages are finally able to separate, he doesn’t stop himself from getting lost in the story.

It may be his favorite, but Magnus takes the time to pick it apart and find points he disagrees with. He is sure it’s not a romance. It’s a couple of kids who believe they’ve fallen in love in a matter of days, and would rather die than live without the other. They’re infatuation blinds their reason and causes suffering for two families.

Magnus can’t say, at this point in his life, he’d ever sacrifice himself for anybody other than his mother. Like Juliette, his young heart made him believe he felt true love on a number of occasions. After the attraction was taken away, the fog in his mind cleared and he realized he was much better off living for himself. Keeping his heart guarded has been working so far, and he plans to keep it that way.

Magnus goes on a late night stroll before he turns in for the day. He walks through the town, the quietness in the air almost uncomfortable. He’s so used to the shaking of carts on the dirt paths, the slamming of shutters against their frames, bargaining happening at every stand.

He passes the bookshop and the florist, and finds himself peeking into the local bar.

The taps are filling pints by the second for burly men hanging off women who are much too pretty for them. He laughs at the sight of a man the size of a barge being ignored by a girl Magnus is sure he could lift up over his head with ease. The young lady turns her back to the man and continues talking to her friend. Magnus appreciates that some people in this town still have their dignity, despite their options being extremely limited.

He continues to scan the chairs for familiar faces, but his eyes find their way to Camille, who is sitting in a large, leather chair by the crackling fire. Her leg is draped on one the arms, her foot dangling over the edge. She swings it back and forth, hitting whoever is sitting in front of her. Magnus knows all respect is lost on this woman.

He debates going inside to grab a beer, but he decides against it when Camille makes her way to the bar. She smiles at the man behind the counter, her finger coming up to stroke his jaw. Her other hand grabs his collar tightly and brings him close. Magnus can see the fear and lust in his eyes, and he almost feels that he’s doing this town a favor.

As long as Camille is determined to marry him, it keeps her eyes set on him and prevents her from breaking anybody else’s heart—Magnus has seen and felt the effects of Camille’s manipulation.

He falls asleep well that night, promising to himself that one day he will leave this village and find the life he dreams of.

* * *

 Aulia pats Philippe as they make their way through the twists and turns of the forest. The lush trees lining each side give her a clear route to follow. She didn’t lie when she said she knew this trail like the back of her hand, yet she can’t help but feel nervous as the sky continues to darken above her.

It would help if the stars were visible to calm her nerves, but with the incoming storm, every inch of the sky is filled with ominous clouds.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers to Philippe, who is beginning to walk carefully as the winds pick up. “We’ve done this dozens of times through the toughest rain and wind.”

To calm her own anxiety, she imagines Magnus seeing her when she arrives back from her two day trip. The genuine look of excitement on his face as if he hasn’t seen her in months. He never fails to make her feel appreciated, and she wonders what magic she performed to have such a compassionate son. It’s true that children bring out the best in people, because Aulia knows she would be nothing without Magnus’ unwavering support.

She worries about her son more than a mother should. He’s the one person in her life that has remained constant, and any harm that comes his way is not allowed.

She knows he struggles more than he ever lets on. The rumors that hang in every corner of the village don’t bother her, but she sees the impact they have on him. He has a genuinely good soul that only wants what’s best for others; if somebody finding their happiness ends with Magnus being at the sharp, brute end of the stick, he’s okay with it.

It doesn’t mean Magnus is a pushover, though. If he believes there’s injustice, he will speak up for those who don’t have a voice. He’s even spoke out against Camille a few times when she was being outright unfair, but Aulia knows he began to watch his mouth for her sake. He’s put up with Camille’s advances for months now because he fears she will ruin their lives. He only wants what’s best for her.

He was merely a few years old when his father, Michel, passed suddenly. He didn’t notice the absence until he was a young child and all the other children had fathers, but he didn’t push her. She can see that Magnus yearns for more information on his father with the way his eyes light up at every mention of his name, but she still hasn’t found the strength to talk about him. One day, she thinks, she will tell Magnus everything she can about Michel and give her son the stories he deserves.

When she refocuses on the winding path, she faces a divergence in the trail, two sides branching off dramatically. She furrows her brow at this sudden change. She may be gaining a few gray hairs, but she can swear that she has never faced this separation in the path before. She racks her brain from every past trip she’s taken, but comes up short.

She worries that she took a wrong turn along the way and has to retrace her footsteps. She doesn’t have time. She has to present this clock to its owner by morning or all her work will be for nothing.

Logically, she knows she has to cross several hills to arrive at her final destination. The hills point east, so if she’s imagining her path correctly, she should follow the right route. And from what she can see, the two paths most likely link up again along the way.

She lightly hits the reins across Philippe’s back, letting him know she’s decided where to go. As she tugs the leather straps to her right, Philippe whinnies and brings himself to a grinding halt. He stamps his hooves into the ground in defiance.

“Philippe, we can’t stop now,” she says, her eyes travelling back up the stormy sky that’s likely to downpour at any second. “We must keep going.”

She tugs again, but the horse refuses to move forward. She curses under her breath.

“It’ll be fine, Philippe. The sooner we move, the faster it’ll be over.”

She uses the reins again, and this time Philippe follows the orders. He begins to move, albeit slowly, down the right-hand path.

Aulia takes in her surroundings and shivers at the sudden drop in temperature. Lining both sides of the path are balding trees, most of them looking like they’re on their last legs. The few leaves hanging onto the branches sway in the wind, some skating through the air before landing under the cart’s wheels.

She grasps the leather tighter as the wind whispers in her ear. It brings another shiver through her body, and Philippe must sense it because he begins to canter.

“Slow down,” she says, trying to prevent the horse from overexerting himself. He neighs in response, his steps becoming erratic.

Aulia hears crackling in the bushes next to her, but when she looks over, she’s unable to see a thing, even with the help of the moonlight. Her shaky hand grasps the lamp that’s hanging off the corner of the cart and she extends her arm, attempting to keep it steady while Philippe’s movements quicken. In the minimal light, she sees two bright orbs in the bushes, staring back at her. She doesn’t have time to process the signs before a wolf pounces at them.

The horse whinnies loudly as another wolf approaches them, its nose low to the ground as it’s assessing his prey. Philippe responds quickly and begins to gallop.

The fear builds in Aulia, her ability to breathe leaving her. She almost cries for help, but it’s no use. She knows nobody is out here; nobody will be there to save her. The adrenaline flows through her veins as she hits the reins against Philippe’s back. She knows he can’t go any faster, but her need to see Magnus again overtakes her.

A wolf jumps up at the empty seat of the cart, and Aulia screams in terror. She hears the scraping of claws on the wood next to her, and the growling covers her panic. She turns to see the wolf climbing its way to her, its teeth bared for her to see.

On instinct, she twists her body and kicks her leg at the wolf’s chest, causing it to lose its grip and fly backwards. She hears a slight whimper but doesn’t have time to celebrate before another wolf is trying to scramble its way to her.

She looks to the ground where the now blown out lamp crashes against the floor of the cart. She grabs the handle and strikes at the animal nearing her. She gets in a few good hits and the wolf stumbles off the side.

She looks to Philippe, who is now surrounded by wolves running next to him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She throws the lamp at one lunging for the horse’s hind leg and misses, but manages to distract it for at least a few seconds.

Aulia is about to begin throwing more objects from within the cart when she’s thrown out her seat and into the trees.

She cries in pain, her body immediately in agony. The sounds of the cart slamming into the nearest tree fill her ears, the contents flying around her. She opens her eyes just in time to see Philippe galloping down the path, the wolves chasing after him.

She attempts to lift her body off the ground, but her arms shake under her weight and she collapses back into the leaves. Stones dig into her back and her head pounds from the fall. She knows she has to move quickly, so she moves each of her limbs, making sure nothing is broken. Her entire body screams as she grabs onto the nearest branch and hoists herself up. Her feet slip slightly from the snow, which catches her attention for only a second.

She doesn’t dare walk down the path where Philippe ran, but she also rules out walking backwards. And she knows she can’t stay by the carriage because she’d freeze in a matter of hours. To her left are rocks covering the side of a steep incline, and she only debates for a split second before she hears howling from the path. She grabs onto the nearest rock and tests it for stability. When it doesn’t budge, she places her feet haphazardly.

Her movements hurry up the incline as the howls near. She looks down to where the cart lies upside down and sees a pack of wolves circling beneath her, some even trying to climb the rocks. She doesn’t let her strength falter and continues.

When she nears the top and her arms and legs are shaking uncontrollably, a wolf appears above her. It snarls and snaps at her shoulder, but she ducks out of the way in time. She loses her footing for a moment when a rock gives way, which goes tumbling down to the pack. She lets out a gasp and brings her body closer to the stones, doing all she can to prevent her arms from giving out.

Below her lies four or five wolves wailing in anticipation, and staring down at her is the alpha, who is snapping as far as it can reach.

She tries to steady her breathing to figure out the best possible escape route, but she knows it’s no use. She will tire far faster than these wolves with her injuries. A sound in the distance causes her to look at the path below.

Philippe gallops past the pack below her, disturbing the snow with every movement. He whinnies passing beneath her, and succeeds in drawing the attention of every wolf. She watches as they follow Philippe, one by one; even the alpha, after debating whether to stay for a few seconds, chases after the horse.

Aulia sighs in relief and waits a few moments before pulling herself up over the rocks and collapsing onto the ground. She lays there, her arms begging for a break. But when she swears she hears rustling, she takes no time to run.

Her breathing is laborious while every fiber of her being is on fire. The one thing on her mind is seeing her son again. Magnus gives her the strength to survive.

As if by fate, she spots large gates towering ahead of her. The bars look worn and rusty, like nobody has used them in years. She runs up to them and pushes, one of the sides giving way instantly with the slight pressure. She quickly closes it behind her, the ear-splitting sound of the rust traveling through the quiet, snowy sky.

She knows the wolves will find her if she stays, so her legs take her further into the property. She’s walking by bare trees when she finally looks up.

Standing in front of her is a weathered, noble castle. The gray walls are draped in dead vines, the plants bitten by the cold. On several portions of the visible walls, the stone has crumbled away from its proper place and most likely lays beneath the ragged bushes surrounding the building.

As she approaches the door, she notices the gargoyles standing proudly above her. The fire contained in the oil lamps cause the creatures’ hunched backs to cast large shadows. The fangs in their mouths remind her of the wolves she encountered, and her eyes quickly scan behind her to make sure she wasn’t followed. When she turns back to the castle, the door has been opened.

Fear strikes her belly, but her aching bones tell her to go inside.

She places one foot carefully in front of the other until she her boot hits marble. She peeks in from where she’s standing and coughs out a weak thank you to whoever opened the door for her. When nobody responds and the room turns out to be empty, she shivers. She tells herself it the wind must’ve opened the door and continues inside.

Before her is a grand staircase, wrapping around into two separate wings. She doesn’t want to intrude any more than she already has, but curiosity gets the best of her. She walks towards the staircase and hovers her foot above the first step.

“No!”

Aulia whips her head around and searches for the owner of the voice. She scans the room and doesn’t see anything in the darkness, bar a candelabra and a clock sitting on a small table nearby. She could have sworn she heard a voice.

“Hello?” she asks, the sound reverberating in the empty hall. “Is anybody there?” She turns her back to the staircase. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I was chased by wolves, my horse ran away,” she rambles, the fear in her voice evident, “and I need some shelter for the night.”

She waits for an answer for several minutes but is only met with silence. She doesn’t want to stay in somebody’s home without permission, but she has no choice. She’s about to ascend the stairs when she hears whispers again.

“Who’s there?” she questions, straining her eyes in the dim light.

Out of fear, her feet begin to take her up the steps. As she’s about to take her fourth step, a crash sounds behind her.

“Who are you?” a voice booms. “What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t have time to turn around before her arm is being held tightly in somebody’s grasp. She yelps as her body is yanked backwards like it weighs nothing. She lands roughly against someone’s chest.

“I’m sorry, I just needed a place to stay the night!” she yells in desperation. She attempts to wriggle free from the tight grasp, but that only causes the hand to tighten. “Please, I meant no harm!”

She twists her head to see her abductor, and gasps in fear.

“So you’ve come to stare at me then, have you?”

She shakes her head violently and tears her stare away.

“You’ve come to stare at the Beast?”

“No, I meant no harm! I just needed a place to stay!” she repeats, her voice straining.

“I’ll give you a place to stay,” he snarls.

“Don’t!”

Aulia hears more voices travelling behind her, overlapping one another.

“Put her down, Alec! She’s harmless!”

“Leave her alone!”

“Let her go! This isn’t you, Alec!”

But the voices obviously don’t convince him, because in a matter of minutes she’s being thrown into a dark, wet cell.

“Please!” she yells as the gate is being thrown shut. “No!”

* * *

 

 Magnus wakes to the sounds of the market stirring outside. Even though his house is quite a ways away, the sounds of customers still travel out to him.

He stretches his muscles, the feeling amazing after sleeping on the rock hard surface he calls a bed. His feet quickly find the floor and the warmth on the wood lets him know that sun has already begun to shine through the windows. He doesn’t normally wake up after it has risen, but he always feels a bit off when his mother is gone.

The mental task list is already forming in his head, and since he’s gotten such a late start, he begins the day by going outside and giving the chickens a few handfuls of scratch.

They gather around his feet, waiting for the food that’s soon to come. He goes to the side of the house to where the bucket of scratch is and grabs a large handful. The seeds are cool against his hand, and the sensation wakes him further.

Once he believes the chickens have been thoroughly fed, he goes to their coop to fetch the eggs.

The sound of hooves galloping nearby doesn’t startle him from his work since horses are common among the village, but he looks up when the sound grows louder. At the sight of Philippe, his stomach drops and his heart clenches.

 _Maman_.

He looks around and searches for any sign of his mother. He wishes to see her walking from the direction Philippe came from, but she’s nowhere in sight.

He rushes over to the horse, who has just finished draining a majority of water from the trough.

“What happened?” he demands, the fear rising in his throat. He grabs the leather straps and looks at Philippe desperately. “Where is she?”

Philippe neighs in response and kicks his front hooves up. Magnus runs inside the house and hurriedly grabs his coat and leather boots. His eyes land briefly on _Roméo et Juliette_.

“Take me to her,” he commands, placing his foot in the stirrup and swinging his leg over the saddle.

As Philippe races at full speed, Magnus can feel bile rising in his throat. His heart is beating out of his chest and his hands falter on the reins. His throat constricts with every shallow breath, the burning in his lungs causing him to choke.

His mother is the only person he’s ever had. With everything they’ve been through, she’s always been there to help and support him. He loves her more than he can bear, and the thought of losing her makes his vision blur.

They travel for hours before Philippe slows near a pair of gates. Magnus directs them closer to the iron and pushes it open. He doesn’t even register the snow landing softly onto the ground around him, his thoughts trained on his mother.

Philippe leads him to the front of the castle, and his already pounding heart sends waves to his ears. The only thing he can hear is his heartbeat fighting to keep a regular pattern.

He hops off Philippe’s back, patting his neck a few times before walking up to the castle doors.

It’s the first time Magnus realizes the vast height and size of the castle he’s about to enter. Several towers stand proudly on either side, but judging by the battered state of them, he assumes they won’t be there for much longer. The door is at least three times his size and is covered corner to corner in detailed designs. The carvings distract Magnus only for a moment.

He grabs the large handle and pushes at the door, surprised with how easy it swings open.

“Hello?” he says, entering the room. “Maman?”

Sunlight is trying to push past the dirt accumulated on the stain glass windows on either side of the door, so the only light helping him see comes from the door. When the door suddenly slams shut, he’s left in the pitch black.

Thankfully, a lit candelabra shines near him. He strides over to the gold figure and picks it up, admiring the details inscribed in the body. When he thinks he feels something crawling in his hand, he throws it away from his vicinity.

This effectively causes the candles to blow out. Magnus huffs in annoyance, his only reliable light source quickly taken away. He’s about to bend down and pick it back up when each candle relights itself.

He yelps and jumps away, but keeps his eyes trained on the object. He knows it couldn’t have moved. His eyes must be deceiving him.

“Do you not know how to keep still?”

Magnus startles at a sudden voice in the room, and he turns around to face whoever spoke. But as far as he can see, the room is empty.

“I couldn’t help it. I haven’t been held by anyone but Alec in years.” A different voice joins in the conversation. Magnus spins around wildly. “It doesn’t help he’s easy on the eyes.”

When Magnus hears the sound of objects hitting against the marble, he slowly turns. He can’t believe his eyes when the candelabra stands up and hops over to the table.

“Hey, keep your eyes to yourself. Am I really not good enough that the second somebody new appears you’re already all over him?”

Magnus shakes his head and rubs his eyes. There’s no way he’s seeing a clock move on its own, let alone speak.  And there’s no away he’s seeing the same clock speak to a candelabra, which is moving its arms as it talks.  

They continue to bicker in front of him, but Magnus isn’t completely processing what they’re saying. He must be dreaming. This all must be some horrible nightmare that he has yet to wake up from. He pinches his hand to pull himself from this state, but when his eyes reopen, he remains standing in the hallway of an enormous castle with two objects now staring up at him.

“You c-c-can talk?”

The candelabra scoffs, “Of course we can. And this one here,” he points the clock with his flame, “seems to be jealous of you.”

Magnus shakes his head and presses his fingers to his temples. “This can’t be real.”

“Au contraire, mon ami.” The golden object bounces towards Magnus’ feet, who can’t seem to focus enough to move them. “We are very much real.”

“But-but…there’s no way. H-h-how?”

“You’re scaring him, Jace. Stop it.” The clock waddles side to side, seemingly the only way it can move. “What can we assist you with?”

Magnus clears his throat. “My mother left for a trip yesterday and only her horse returned. He took me here.” He cannot believe he’s telling a clock and candelabra his problems. “Is she here?”

The two objects quickly turn to each other, and the candelabra shakes his arms and head. “Don’t,” he whispers to his friend.

The clock stays silent for a few seconds. “But why, Jace? He’s being so kind and—”

“Simon, don’t you dare.”

A loud cough sounds from an entrance to his left. The clock and candelabra’s—who he assumes are called Jace and Simon—eyes widen and dart to the stone stairs disappearing into the entrance. Magnus knows his mother must be up those stairs.

He grabs ahold of Jace’s base, much to his loud arguing, and moves towards the flight of stairs. The stone is cold upon touch as Magnus runs his fingers over the surface to gain some balance. He hears another cough, the sound stabbing his chest.

“Maman, I’m coming! Stay where you are!” he yells up the spiral stairs and quickens his pace.

He reaches the top step and swings Jace around the room, trying to find his mother. The light catches the low shine of iron bars, and peeking through one of the slits is his mother’s hand.

“Maman!” he cries out and runs over to where she is, crumpling on the ground in front of her.

He grabs her hand and flinches at the icy touch. Magnus sees his mother, the person he loves most in the world, laying on the ground with bruises covering her visible skin. He gently takes her hand between his to warm her up. 

“Maman, you’re freezing! Did they hurt you?”

She coughs again and removes her hand from his, placing her fingers gently on his cheek. He leans into her touch.

“Magnus.” Tears form in her eyes. “You need to get out of here. You can’t stay here,” she pleads, pushing his shoulder away from the bars.

“Maman, I need to help you! What’s going on? Why are you in a cell?”

She grasps his coat in her frail hands. “Magnus, please. Please, I want you to leave this place.”

“No, I won’t leave you! Who’s done this to you?” he demands.

“Go, now!”

“What are you doing here?”

Magnus drops Jace onto the ground as he’s thrown against the wall. He hears the soft thud of gold against wet stone as his eyes search for the source of the voice. He sees a figure standing in the corner of the room where water has seeped through the cracks and formed a puddle.

“Who’s there?” Magnus demands. “Who are you?”

“I am the master of this castle!” The voice is deep and pounding, the loudness attacking Magnus’ ears.

“I’ve come for my mother,” he says, doing everything in his power to steady his voice. “Please, you have to let her go. She did nothing wrong and she’s sick!”

“Nothing wrong?” The figure paces side to side in the shadows. Magnus hears the sound of a cape brushing against the wall. “Your mother trespassed onto my property. I did what I had to do.”

“But she could die!” he begs. “I’ll do anything. Please, let her go.” He hears the wavering in his voice.

“There’s nothing you can do. She’s my prisoner.” Magnus sees the figure begin to walk towards the stairs.

Magnus presses the heel of his palms into his eyes. He racks through his brain to come up with a quick solution. He doesn’t care what happens to him, he just needs his mother to be safe and alive. He almost pleads for the man to wait when he’s hit with an idea. He knows his mother will never forgive him, but he has to do this for her.

“Take me instead. Let me take her place.”

The figure stands still. Magnus can see his broad shoulders moving up and down, the shadows dancing on the wall. He’s silent for a few moments.

“You would,” he begins, pausing for a second, “take her place?”

“Magnus, no! You don’t have to—”

“If I did,” he interrupts and swallows loudly. “Would you let her go?”

The figure doesn’t respond immediately. Magnus can see he’s reviewing his options, probably trying to think about who would take more effort to care for. Or who would perish first.

“Yes, but you must promise to stay here forever.”

Magnus looks at the dark silhouette, hiding within the shadows. He furrows his brow and stands up from where he’s kneeling on the floor. If his voice betrays him, he may as well stand tall and give an illusion of confidence.

“Come into the light,” he orders.

The man freezes in place and Magnus hears his breath hitching in his throat. He sees the man’s fists clench and unclench at his sides, as if debating whether or not the simple task is worth it. But when he finally steps his foot forwards into the light, Magnus inhales sharply.

The man towers over Magnus, which is a feat considering he himself is almost six feet tall. His shoulders are at least a few feet from blade to blade, and his arms look as though they’ll rip out of his shirt any second. He’s barefoot, but Magnus doesn’t have time to focus on the almost animal-like size before his eyes land on the man’s face.

His cheekbones jut out and his jaw is broad, the light from the window producing dramatic shadows for every feature. His face, neck, and Magnus assumes the rest of his body, is covered in pink, jagged scars. Each mark spans a few inches and looks rough to the touch. But what surprises Magnus the most is the pair of horns sitting atop his head.

The base of the horns is covered by raven hair. Magnus can’t tell if the limited light is causing the darkness or if it’s true to color. The tips of the small antlers curve slightly inwards and come to a fine point. They can’t be any more than half a foot, but it startles Magnus none the less.

Magnus breathes deeply and steps closer to the man, trying to stand as tall as possible.

From behind him, his mother pleads. “I won’t let you do this!” she cries. “I’m much older; I’ve lived my life!”

Magnus feels tears stinging his eyes, but he quickly blinks them away. “You have my word.”

The tall man nods his head and skirts past Magnus to the cell. He reaches up and grabs a lever, far out of Magnus’ reach, and pulls it down effortlessly. The cell door pulls up, and out stumbles his mother.

The man grabs onto her arm quickly and begins to lead her to the stairs.

“Wait!” Magnus yells, his voice catching in his throat. “You can’t be so cruel as to not let me say goodbye to my mother.”

The man turns his head slightly and stills for a few moments, but keeps his grip firm on her arm.

“Forever can spare a minute.”

He sees the man’s breathing still, and then he’s releasing his hand.

She runs over to where her son is standing, and they fall into one another. Magnus collapses onto the ground and Aulia wraps her arms around him.

“You can’t do this, Magnus,” she sobs into his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, his tears soaking into her shirt.

He feels his heart tearing as he listens to his mother’s cries. He’s only seen her cry several times in his life, each time on the day his father passed. He would find her lying in bed, head in hands, sobbing into the tattered scarf she kept of his. But even in the recent years, those tears have stopped.

She once told him that pain doesn’t lessen with time, you just get used to the ache. And with those words in mind, Magnus whispers, “I love you, Maman.”

He knows his heart will bleed without ever seeing his mother again, but the pain will become bearable. And simply knowing she will be out in the world, alive and safe, makes Magnus sure this is what he needs to do.

He stands up in his spot, bringing her up with him, and gives his mother one last hug. She rubs circles into his back and Magnus cherishes it, knowing he’ll never feel this again.

They stand together for as long as they’re allowed, but after a few minutes, his mother is ripped away from him.

“No!” she yells as she’s dragged towards the stairs. “Magnus, no!”

Magnus takes one final look at his mother and shuts his eyes. He can’t have his mother screaming in agony be the lasting image in his mind.

“I love you,” he screams. But when he opens his eyes again, she’s gone. All he can hear is a faint yelling, and soon he’s left in silence. “I love you,” he repeats under his breath.

He lets himself feel for a few minutes. Feel the anguish of never seeing his mother again flow through his body. Feel the anger of being trapped in this cell forever. Feel the relief knowing she will be safe.

He takes it upon himself to walk into the now empty cell, and stands in the center. The humidity in the damp cell makes it hard for him to breathe deeply, but he tries his best to steady himself. Although he’s managed to stop his cries, the tears continue to stream down his cheeks and fall onto the floor, only adding to puddles already there.

He hears footsteps on the spiral staircase, and he guesses it’s the large man going by the fullness of the sound. As the noise nears Magnus and stops in front of him, he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to face his imprisoner. 

Magnus doesn’t startle at the sight of him like the first time; he looks straight at him and doesn’t back down. He tries to emit an aura of confidence, needing this man to know that he won’t be complacent. 

They stare at each other for a few moments. The sun is now higher in the sky and more rays enter the room. Magnus can see the man’s hazel eyes clearly, and he notices flecks of brown interspersed in the iris before the eyes flit away from his. Magnus feels somewhat pleased with himself that he managed to intimidate him.

The man clears his throat and raises his arm to pull the lever down. The rails come crashing down into the stone once again, and Magnus wipes at the tears staining his face.

He hears the man start a sentence one or two times, questioning whether to speak or not. When he finally does speak, his voice is far softer than it was before.

“Why did you sacrifice yourself?”

Magnus is stunned by the question, but his answer is instinctual.

“She’s my mother. I’d give my life and freedom to see her safe.”

The man stares at him and looks as though he’s thinking about his answer deeply. He opens his mouth again to speak, but Magnus doesn’t give him time to respond. He backs away from the iron poles and sits under the only window in the cell.

The man leaves the room, picking up Jace from he stood in the corner of the room. Magnus swears he hears Jace say “Maybe he’s the one” before a deafening silence hits him. He lets out a shaky breath and leans back into the stone, not allowing himself to think about what those words mean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus definitely doesn't like Alec, and for good reason. A simple invite to dinner doesn't have a good outcome. A little more backstory, a lot more vaguing, and copious amounts of emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my babes!
> 
> Okay, I know it’s been about a month since I last updated. I am so beyond sorry about the wait. But ohmygosh has college been incredibly stressful lately. I’ve been working on this continuously since the last update, and I really hope I did the chapter justice.
> 
> I’m just warning y’all again that this will be a slow burn. I apologize if you’re frustrated with their lack of interactions, but we all need a little bit of backstory and setting up of the story first!!! 
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Child abuse mentions  
> \- Suicide/suicide attempts mentions 
> 
> Enjoy my angels!

The drip of the water sounds through the cell. It becomes rhythmic and entrancing—from the moment the drop seeps between the cracks of the stone to when it gathers at the surface. Beads grow until the weight snaps the connection and they fall to the floor. The sound of water meeting water echoes against stone, only stopping when a new droplet joins the pulse.

Magnus can guess it had only been a few hours since he was locked away, according to the light now higher in the sky. With each small movement of the sun, he followed the light and scooted across the rough stone. He gave up after a while, the rays not helping to keep his limbs warm.

The light bleeding into the chamber, softly touching the ground, doesn’t warm the rock bearing the weight beneath it. Falling outside in billows of white dust, snow blurs the rays fighting beyond the bars of the window. Any heat fails to break through the blizzard, and leaves the waves with only hints of soothing softness.

_Forever._

The single word rings in his mind, bouncing off the sides with a sense of urgency. His head aches with the idea of forever. He can’t even begin to fathom the extent of such a word. Everything has its own forever. A book’s forever begins the moment ink touches paper, and ends when it’s unknowingly read for the last time. Stories last their own forever, and die alongside those who kept it stored away in their minds. Even people have their own forevers. And his would be spent in a prison cell.

Magnus never thought of time as his enemy. Sure, he has always been in a race with time. Sometimes he begged for time to skip a decade so he could see a life outside the confines of the village. Other times he yearned for time to slow for his own enjoyment to carry on. He pleaded for time to cease when he needed to catch his breath.

But now he despises time. He has no use for seconds, minutes, or hours. Forever doesn’t care.

Forever will never allow him to see his mother again. The hole formed in his chest tears further with each passing thought. He’ll never hear the frustrating whispers of his mother repairing a particularly finicky clock. Never again will he have late night talks that leave his side in stitches. He knows she’s safe and she has the freedom to live out her life to the fullest, and while he wishes the thought would comfort him, it does nothing to abate the pain.

But he must learn to accept forever. The quicker he lets his mind and body agree that this is his life from this day forward, the quicker forever will pass. But it haunts him. And he knows it will take years for that nightmare to abide.

The crisp sound of gold against stone, and whispered bickering, hits his ears.

“You’re just going to anger him, Jace.”

“He doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“I know him better than he knows himself. Trust me.”

“That’s difficult when we’re going to rescue your crush as we speak.”

Jace and Simon appear before Magnus. It takes him a few moments to process that this is also in his forever—talking candelabras and clocks.

He doesn’t move from where he slouches against the wall, which became increasingly uncomfortable over the past thirty minutes. He eyes the two in front of him.

“No need to be jealous, mon amour.” Jace taps his flame against the glass of Simon’s face, who Magnus hears giggle fondly under his breath.

The two stare at each other for a few moments, and Magnus can only assume they’re a couple. He wants to ask if Simon gets burned often, but he refrains.

“So.” Jace interrupts his thoughts. “We are here to escort to your room.”

Magnus furrows his brow and cocks his head as the bars slide upwards, the piercing noise not distracting him from the news.

“A room? I thought I was to live here,” Magnus questions.

“People say a lot of things out of fear and anger,” Jace says calmly. “Now, if you follow me, I will take you to your chamber.”

Magnus quickly stands up, dusting off his pants. In the short time spent in the cell, a layer of grime had somehow accumulated. He can feel dampness sticking to his skin, and he has the passing hope of a clean set of clothes.

He warily steps out of the confines of the cell and takes a deep breath. So, he thinks, forever won’t be spent here. A seemingly set time frame has shifted.

They descend the same steps he ran up just hours before. He stops himself from thinking about his mother being dragged down the rugged stone. He swears he can hear the sound of her struggle.

Walking proudly in front of him is Jace. His flames flow with his movement, which would normally be enough for them to be extinguished. But the fire stays steady and allows the air to pass through it.

Waddling in line with him is Simon. Magnus wishes his mother was here to see such a gorgeous clock. While she’s the expert, he can still make out the crystal covering the face, the hands that remain still. Simon looks up to him.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Magnus.”

Simon hums. “I’m Simon. But, you probably already got that from Jace. Oh yeah, that’s Jace. He definitely has a crush on you, which is fine. You’re the first person to visit us in years—not that that’s the only reason he thinks you’re cute. You are pretty attractive, I can admit. But he is my boyfriend, which I don’t know if you—”

“Simon,” Jace spins in his spot and shakes his head affectionately. “Our guest—if I heard correctly, Magnus—has only just arrived and you’re already rambling. I can hear him falling asleep from all the way up here.”

“And I can hear you swooning from all the way back here,” Simon retorts.

Magnus laughs under his breath, a lightness filling his chest for a passing moment.

Jace turns around and begins to ascend the grand staircase. Marble and gold collide, but there’s still softness to the steps. Simon and Magnus follow closely behind, and although Magnus’ legs can take him up the stairs much faster, he slows himself down to Simon’s pace.

“Your room is in the east wing.” Jace twists his head slightly to speak to Magnus.

“It’s definitely not in the west wing,” Simon adds.

Jace stops abruptly and shakes his arms, as to silence his boyfriend.

“What’s in the west wing?” Magnus’ eyes wander to the other set of stairs, disappearing off to the left.

“Nothing!” they both blurt out at the same time.

“I don’t even know what I was talking about. There is no west wing! We only have one wing—the east wing! It’s the best wing. The only wing!” Simon stammers.

“What’s he’s trying, and failing, to say,” Jace begins, narrowing his eyes at Simon, “is that there’s nothing of your interest in the west wing.”

Magnus is going to argue and inquire some more, but Jace has already begun his way into the east wing and he will surely get lost if he doesn’t follow closely behind. He eyes the west wing one final time before catching up with the two.

They arrive at a grand pair of doors, the handles drenched in a rich gold. Jace jumps up—Magnus cannot understand how he can launch himself upwards of several feet—and grabs ahold of the handle. For a moment, Jace and the handle seem to morph into one. Both are a lavish gold, and Jace’s flame only makes them shine more. The doors push open, and Magnus’ breath is taken away.

An enormous bed stands across from the doorway. Twirling up from where the feet meet the ground, gilded vines tangle in one another, serving as the frame for the bed. Leaves of gold hang from the vines, looking delicate to the touch. Even in the still air of the room, Magnus sees the gentle leaves and worries they’ll snap from the weight and fall to the floor. The gold of the frame is dulled by years of neglect, but it doesn’t diminish the grandeur.   

His eyes travel to the bedding. Outlines of midnight blue encompass shapes of yellow, varying in color intensity and size. They overwhelm his field of vision, but they all fit together in one flowing piece. It seems to be a blooming flower, but a thin layer of dust prevents Magnus from truly appreciating it.

To his right stands a small, marmalade closet. The deep orange almost clashes with the gold-leaf of the bed, but it all links together through the blue detailing on the closet doors. Tiny flowers adorn the surface of the short wardrobe, and add to the softness of the room.

Magnus walks over to closet and runs his fingers along its frame. He startles backwards when the doors fly open. The closet shakes the sleep away, the sound of wood hitting the floor as it moves, and a soft yawn sounds from inside. Magnus knows he was escorted to the room by a candelabra and a clock, but he still isn’t ready when the wardrobe begins to speak.

“I heard we had a guest!” The voice is light and airy, a certain gentle quality to it.

Jace marches next to Magnus, who is still staring at the closet in bewilderment.

“This is Magnus…whose last name he hasn’t blessed us with yet.” Jace tilts his head up towards him. “But we can get all cozy later. Magnus, this is Cl—”

“I’m Clary!” she interrupts.

Magnus can see two eyes, or what he thinks are eyes, blinking at him. Inside the closet—Clary—is supplies for tailoring. It’s an organized chaos with needles littering the drawers, along with thread bunching up on pieces of fabric. He can’t see a distinct face like Simon or Jace, but her presence is joyful.

He bows his head and musters a small smile. “Magnus Bane.”

Clary moves towards him, and it takes everything in Magnus not to flinch.

“Spin for me.” Magnus cocks his head in confusion. “I haven’t had anybody to dress in years! I need to know what I’m working with.”

Magnus does as he’s told and spins slowly. A noise of delight sounds from Clary.

“You’re the perfect canvas! I only ever have Alec to dress and he has terribly boring taste in clothing. Not to mention I always underestimate his height. But I can already tell you’re gonna be an absolute dream to dress. Oh, I can’t wait!”

Magnus tilts his head. “Alec?”

“Oh, you haven’t met him yet?”

“If we’re talking about the scary man who forced my mother away and has promised to imprison me forever, then yes. I have met Alec.” Magnus’ voice is laced in distaste.

“Don’t act like you know him,” Jace snaps from beside him.

“Jace,” Clary warns.

“No. He doesn’t know anything about Alec.”

Jace’s flames heighten in size, most of them directed in Magnus’ direction. He storms out of the room, Simon following closely behind.

“I apologize on behalf of them.” Clary sounds quiet, her voice tired.

“What did I say? Surely this Alec person is just as cruel to you as he was to me and my mother.” Magnus feels the need to defend himself from these people—especially when they’re protecting the man who ripped his family apart.

“It’s different for us.” Clary makes her way back to her spot against the wall and slouches against it as best she can. “I know that’s not a good enough answer and it doesn’t excuse Alec’s behavior, but the situation is a lot more complicated than I can explain.”

Questions file into Magnus’ brain, but anger still lingers, causing chaos in his mind. How can anybody defend this man?

* * *

His eternity is encapsulated in a glass dome. Others can peer inside and watch as life slips away, and as he watches, he sees forever approaching. The barrier prevents anyone from disrupting the passing of time, but he almost wishes the seal could be broken before the date.

Alec knows it’s his fault. He knows the punishment was made to inflict as much pain as possible for as long as possible; or at least that’s what he’s forced himself to believe. Pushing aside blame only aids his conscience from disintegrating and does nothing to help those around him suffering from his mistakes as well, but he can’t face the truth—especially when that truth is so evident in his appearance, his face, his entire being. It’s hard to ignore everything that you are, but Alec attempts to do it.

There have been times when he can’t go on—the guilt overwhelms every part of his being, the scars more ghastly than the day before. He allows himself to give in to his deepest desires. The top of the castle is where he’s found himself more times than he count, the stone floor looking inviting beneath him. He yearns for one day where he’ll be set free. But attempts at ending his anguish only lead to more pain.

The enchantress made sure that he could not escape his fate before time allowed. He’s cannot leave this earth before the last petal drops. When the last petal finally reunites with the others, if he chooses to do so, he may leave.

Alec thinks about it more than he can bear. He waits for the day when he can finally be freed from this life. Because no matter what, he is the reason his family is stuck in this castle. He is the reason his parents left them. He is the reason they will perish and remain objects in a few short months. And once he no longer has his family and he’s left to live as evidence that he is the beast the enchantress warned him of, life won’t have a point. Living forever as a monster is far worse than cutting his own forever short.

The flower hovers gently in its case. Littering the bottom is dried up, browning petals of the past. Ten petals a year fall off the bud, dancing side to side before collapsing. As soon as one touches the marble table on which the flower floats above, it shrivels up and transforms from a bright red into a dusty umber.

He swears he can hear the petals hit the surface.

Of course he’s aware of the castle collapsing around him with every loss, just another part of the curse. He’s gotten so used to the feeling of the structure shifting around him, the earth moving beneath him as another part of stone breaks off and falls to the ground. But he’s been able to block that out.

Petal meeting marble haunts him. Everything else in the castle goes silent, and he’s met with the deafening sound of forever approaching. Even if Isabelle is in the room, chatting away and trying to distract him from the sound of the west wing crumbling, her voice disappears. He’s not sure if this is part of the curse, but it’s almost like a preview of what’s to come. His family, gone.

He holds their lives in his hands. Their lives are far important to him than his own, and he can’t help but feel guilt creep into him every time he tries to end his own pain. How selfish can he be? He will leave his family behind when he’s the only one that can break the curse—and whatever sad soul falls in love with him. But he accepted long ago that he cannot be loved.

“Alec.”

He startles and quickly turns around to find his siblings, and Simon, standing before him. They have worry painting their faces, and he’s hit with another wave of guilt. They’re here worrying about him, when they should hate him. He’s the reason they’re like this.

“Are you okay?” Isabelle asks.

“Don’t ask me that.” Alec flinches at the bite in his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“I should be the one asking you. I did _this_ ,” he gestures vaguely to them, “to you. And you’re asking me if I’m okay? I ruined your lives.”

“Alec,” she hops up on the nearest table. “You know we don’t blame you.”

“But you should!” Alec yells. “You should hate me! All of you should hate me for what I did!” His hand reaches up to his neck, the raised skin rough beneath his touch.

“Alec!” Jace warns. “I’ve had enough of this self-pity. You know we don’t blame you for what happened to us, so stop with these outbursts. It’s hasn’t been four years yet. You still have—”

“I don’t even have half a year left. I barely have three months! And then when my birthday hits y-y-you all will—”

“Stop,” Jace interrupts. “I don’t need to hear this. There is currently an attractive, albeit rude, man in the east wing who is waiting to fall in love.”

“Magnus isn’t rude.” Simon walks up to him, glaring at Jace. “He just has a misunderstanding of the whole situation.”

_Magnus._

Isabelle’s eyes light up. “I have a brilliant idea! Invite him to dinner.”

“Not happening.”

“Alec, come on! I have yet to see him, but from what I hear from both Jace and Simon, he’s just your type.”

“And Jace’s type,” Simon mutters under his breath.

“Even if I did invite him, he wouldn’t agree to it.”

“Alec, my dear brother. You underestimate yourself. At least try.” Isabelle widens her eyes at him and nods her head to the doorway.

“Fine,” he sighs.

Isabelle makes a noise of excitement and hops off the table, already making her way through the door. Alec begrudgingly follows.

It’s a blur walking to Magnus’ room. Isabelle tells him to dust off his shoulders, to adjust his lapels. He instinctively wants to pull his collar higher on his neck, as if not seeing the largest scar will bring attention away from all the others. Infallible logic.

They all stop in front of one of the many bedroom doors.

“Okay,” Isabelle whispers. “Go ahead. Remember to smile.”

Alec rolls his eyes again, but practices a soft smile to himself before he brings his hand up to strike the wooden door. Of course he didn’t mean for the sound to ring throughout the whole castle, but his anger has the ability to stay well hidden within him, only to surface when given any opportunity.

“You will join me for dinner.”

“Oh God, Alec.” He hears sighs from behind him.

Only silence answers him. He strains his ears to find any sign of movement from within the bedroom, but nothing meets him. He repeats himself, louder this time. His knocks become fuller, his patience slowly slipping away from him.

The door whips open. Standing with one hand still grasped firmly on the doorknob, is Magnus.

He quickly recognizes the same eyes that tore into him earlier in the day, but in this light they’re even more mesmerizing. Glossy walnut stare at him, even fiercer than before. The light framing his body from behind makes his jawline even sharper, a deep shadow created below it. He has a large frame, and even with Alec being a foot taller, he holds his ground and stands proud.

“Excuse me?” Magnus spits out.

Alec turns behind, his eyes pleading for help from Jace or Isabelle. When all they offer is a petrified stare, he quickly tries to regain himself.

“Would you like to join me for dinner?”

“Earlier today you told me you were going to hold me captive till the day I die, and now you want to have dinner with me? What’s wrong with you?”

Alec clenches his fist. He can’t help but flash back to his father whenever another person raises their voice, even if it’s his own anger that poses a threat. His neck itches.

“How could you think that I would want to dine with you?”

“You will have dinner with me at once!” Alec can hear his siblings groaning in frustration.

“I most certainly will not!”

“If you don’t eat with me, you don’t eat at all!”

He doesn’t mean it. He regrets it the second the words leave his mouth. Alec has never been good at controlling his temper, and he has definitely never been good at watching what he says when said temper is out of control.

Alec sees a flash of hurt cross Magnus’ face. He wants to take it back. He wants to tell Magnus that he won’t be staying forever. He only just has to wait until his birthday, and then he can be free.

“Fine! I’d rather starve than eat with a monster like you!”

_Monster._ His siblings have never used this word to describe him, but he’s used to the way his own voice rings in his head. He recognizes the distaste behind it, similar to the way his mind repeats the word over and over again, until he begins to claw at his own ears for the voice to stop. It’s his own voice that has been torturing him over the years, and now he can add another to his ammunition. 

The door slams shut, and Alec leans his forehead against it. Before he ring in his anger, he finds his fist meeting the wall in frustration. He spins to face his siblings; a disappointed look paints each of their faces.

“Alec,” Isabelle begins.

He lets a yell of anger out and storms past them.

“Alec!” Isabelle yells after him. “He’s just upset!”

He hits a vase off the table nearest to him, sending pieces of sharp ceramic flying around the hallway. He feels a piece cut into his palm, but it’s a welcome pain.

“He called me a monster!” he screams. “He can’t stand the sight of me! It’s no use Isabelle. He is not that one that can break the curse. I’m sorry for disappointing you time after time and being completely unlovable. Just drop it.” He blocks out all other words from his siblings.

To Alec, anger feels like drowning. He struggles for a while, trying his absolute best not to breathe in. It takes everything in his power to not to allow himself the sweet feeling of air, even though he knows fully it will feel like fire in his lungs. But he’s naïve. And no matter how many times he finds himself in deep water with no way out, he takes that first breath. And from there, the fire spreads through his veins and cannot be controlled.

He only has to deal with this feeling for a few more months. On his birthday, his eternity will begin, and his fate will be in his hands. He feels absolutely horrible for wanting that time to come, knowing his siblings will meet their end as he meets his. But he knows he can’t do anything to stop it from happening.

His anger only grows when for a split second, Magnus flashes through his mind.

* * *

Clary had left the room after the outburst between Alec and Magnus. After asking if he was okay, she said she was going down to speak to her father, Luke. But Magnus isn’t ignorant. She was only being kind and giving him room to cry. Although it took several minutes for her to exit the room, it didn’t take Magnus anytime at all to feel his throat constrict.

His eyes burn from the tears close to spilling onto his cheeks. He knows he should allow himself time to mourn the loss of his mother, but he wants to be done crying. And he most definitely doesn’t want to cry out of anger at the monster keeping him captive. He refuses to even think of his name.

He can’t get his mother out of his head. He saw her earlier today, but it feels like years. He knows she was set free, but Magnus has no idea what happened to her. Did the man kick her out of the gates? Did he give her a horse to get back to town? She could be freezing outside and he can’t do anything help her.

A light knock sounds from the other side of the door. Magnus is ready to take this man down with his bare hands when it opens without a word, but he calms at the sight of a small tea pot rolling towards him on a table.

Gentle detailing decorates the surface, shiny gold standing stark against white. It matches the rest of the houses aesthetic, but scattered throughout the lace design are pockets of bright red. The color acts as defiance against everything else, and Magnus appreciates it.

He wipes away the excess tears from his eyes and clears his throat.

“You must be Magnus,” the tea pot says, the voice sing-song. “I’m—”

Interrupting the tea pot from revealing her name, a tiny tea cup rounds into the room, nearly knocking into her as it jumps up onto the table. The tea pot giggles at the sight.

“Woah, woah, woah! Mon petit frère, you need to slow down! We don’t want you getting another chip.”

The tiny tea cup breathes heavily and bounces up and down from excitement.

“We haven’t had a guest in forever! I needed to come see for myself who Simon was getting all stutter-y about.” The tea cup turns to Magnus, who notices the rosy flush of his cheeks. “Hi, I’m Max!”

“Hello there, I’m Magnus.” He questions whether he should shake hands—or handle—but opts for bowing his head and smiling. “And I didn’t quite catch your name.” He turns to the tea pot.

“Isabelle. The one person keeping this castle together.” Max titters next to her and she shoots him an affectionate, yet reprimanding look.

Max bounces over to Magnus and perches on his knee. “Between you and me,” the boy whispers, “she can barely heat up water.”

“Hey, I can too heat up water!”

“So why did you bring up an extra tea pot filled with hot water up here?” Max teases, bouncing down next to Isabelle and pointing to the evidence.

“Go and play downstairs, you little troublemaker.” Isabelle swats him off the table. A small clink sounds as Max touches the floor. As he leaves the room, his saucer following expertly beneath him, Magnus hears, _Hey Simon, you’re right! He is pretty cute!_

Magnus allows himself to laugh, and he brings his attention back to Isabelle.

“Well,” she laughs. “That was my younger brother, Max. He is a complete sweetheart, but don’t trust those puppy eyes. Although he wasn’t lying; I did bring up an extra tea pot for you. A hot cup of tea can fix anything.”

Magnus almost audibly laughs, but he keeps it to himself. He watches as a steaming cup is poured for him, and he nods his head in acceptance when Isabelle pushes it his way.

He does have to say that the first sip calms him considerably. It warms his throat, allowing his breathing to steady.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding croaky. He tries clearing his throat another time before taking his second sip.

Isabelle’s eyes are sad, slightly downturned. She stutters out a few syllables of words Magnus can’t quite catch before settling on, “Are you doing okay?”

Magnus wants to scoff and completely lose himself in his own resentment, but the sincerity in her voice and worry in her eyes stops him.

“I’ve been better,” he answers honestly.

She debates for a few moments as to what to say next. “I’m sorry,” she breathes out.

He doesn’t know whether he should accept this apology, since it’s not hers to give away. Nor will the apology magically allow him to be with his mother. But he says thank you in his most genuine voice.

“I know I shouldn’t be the one apologizing and I wish there was more I could do, but I want you to know that we’ll all try to make you as comfortable and as happy as possible. Even if some of us haven’t made the best first impressions.”

Magnus releases a tight, thin smile. “You’re not wrong about that.”

Isabelle sighs. “Alec is impulsive and does things out of anger and sadness. You have no reason to forgive him or believe me, but,” she pauses for a moment, then adds, “he’s my brother. I know he’s a good person.”

“You’re his sister?” Magnus asks in surprise. She nods. “How is that possible?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry yourself about. When the time is right, you’ll know.”

Magnus furrows his brow at the cryptic answer. Obviously being held captive in the castle forever doesn’t allow him to learn why objects are speaking to him. And how said objects can be related to a human. Isabelle anticipates his questions.

“We’re all responsible for this curse happening to us. Alec may blame himself solely, but we’re at fault as well.” Isabelle cautiously adds, “I want to tell you everything, I really do. But you’ll be told when the time comes.”

“I guess that’s the most information I’ll be getting for a while, huh?” He makes sure not to sound too serious, because he really does appreciate her kindness.

She smiles and giggles under her breath. “Unfortunately so.” Magnus sighs in relief that she didn’t take any offense. “Was Clary over the moon about you? She’s been so bored dressing Alec that having an incredibly attractive man to dress up must be her dream come true.”

“Not to sound too full of myself, but she seemed quite happy,” he admits.

“It doesn’t even look like you need any assistance in clothing. I can already tell you have quite the fashion sense.”

“Thank you; although I think you’re stretching the truth a little bit, considering my clothes are completely limp and I look like a mess.” He points to his stained shirt.

“You’ll have to let me live through you. Not too surprisingly, being a tea pot doesn’t allow for much exploration of fashion,” she giggles. “Oh! I almost forgot why I came up here. Dinner is almost ready!”

Magnus squints his eyes in confusion. “I am not in the mood to see your brother.”

“Again, I apologize on his behalf. People say things out of fear, and no thought goes into their words.” She begins to move towards the double doors. “But Alec won’t be dining with you. If you’ll follow me, I can take you down to the dining hall.”

Just as Magnus’ stomach growls, they walk past a huge, open ballroom. There has to be at least half a dozen chandeliers hanging proudly from the ceiling, but white cloths drape the fixtures and bring the whole room down. The vastness of the room doesn’t hold his attention for long, because the beautiful sound of a piano drifts from inside.

The tune lifts and falls, the emotion behind each note exposed for the castle to hear. The tempo, normally the most consistent part of a piece, doesn’t stay steady for long before it’s picking up the notes and dragging them along. In the short stanza Magnus has the pleasure of hearing, it’s urgent yet decorated. He wishes he could listen to it all day, but the tune stops abruptly.

Magnus looks around the room for the musician, let alone the instrument itself. To his right stands a gorgeous piano, white and black keys contrasting one another. The wood appears weathered, but he can only imagine it’s from disuse. Before he can ask Isabelle any questions, the lid snaps shut and Clary’s light, warm voice approaches him.

He must’ve been too distracted to see Clary standing in the room as well, but she doesn’t seem to mind he failed to greet her.

“Papa, this is Magnus!” Clary gestures to the piano sitting proudly in front of him. “Magnus, this is my father, Luke.”

The piano walks towards him, and at this point Magnus isn’t surprised when it begins speaking.

“Pleased to meet you, Magnus.” Luke’s warm voice carries easily throughout the room.

“Likewise. And if I may, your playing is absolutely gorgeous.”

A laugh sounds from the piano. “Glad to know that there’s another person besides Alec who can appreciate fine music.”

Clary gasps. “Excuse me! I listen to every single new piece you compose.”

“And you are a wonderful daughter for that, but I heard you snoring during the second movement of my newest composition.”

Clary’s eyes widen, and the pink from where her cheeks are vanish.

“Do you play, Magnus?” Luke inquires.

“Sadly, no. But according to my mother,” he begins, but falters over his words. Magnus feels his chest compress, and he tries to shake away the feeling. He continues, “Apparently my father was quite the genius musician. I suppose I inherited his good ear.”

Magnus hopes they didn’t see the way his face fell flat at the mention of his mother. He hopes they didn’t hear how his voice cracked. God, he doesn’t want them to see his weaknesses. But what does he have to hide? Why does he have to spare their feelings? So they don’t feel guilty that their friend is keeping him prisoner?

A silence falls over them, but Luke saves the moment. “I’m sure we can turn you into an incredible musician in no time. It’d be difficult for me to teach you, but I know Alec wouldn’t be opposed. He’s managed to teach Simon an F major scale, which is a feat considering how tone deaf he is.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Isabelle coughs, “but poor Magnus is starving. I’m going to take him to the dining hall. You two may join us if you’d like.”

“I was just in the middle of my newest piece and as you can see, Clary is dying to hear it. But Magnus, don’t be afraid of coming to visit. I’d love to talk music with you sometime. And maybe we can drag in Alec and get him to play us a piece.”

Magnus nods, but doesn’t acknowledge or accept the invitation. “Nice meeting you, Luke.”

“Oh, Magnus!” Clary’s voice rings out. “After dinner, go back up to your room so I can fit you for a new suit!”

He smiles at her enthusiasm. “Of course, Biscuit.”

He furrows his brow at the nickname that rolled so easily off his tongue. What was he doing? Is he supposed to like the others in the castle? He can’t help but feel conflicted. He doesn’t want himself to feel so at peace around these people who seem fine with him being a prisoner here. Or should he just accept the situation and become friends with them?

At least Magnus knows one thing is for sure. He will spend his time in this castle as far away from Alec as possible.   

* * *

“Alec,” Jace yells from behind him. “At least let me wrap your hand.”

“Jace, I said leave me be,” Alec snarls.

“Can you just accept help for once?” Jace’s voice is loud enough to cause Alec to stop in his tracks. “Why do you give up so easily? He said no to _one_ dinner. Not all hope is gone.” Alec storms off for a few feet before Jace loses his temper as well. “It’s not just you this affects! You’re giving up on your last chance at breaking this curse, and you’re not even bothering to think about any of us!”

“Not bothering to think about you? You don’t think I spend every waking moment blaming myself for what happened?” Alec twists in his spot to face his brother, his hands itching to scratch at his neck. “Magnus thinks I’m a monster! He thinks I’m a disgusting animal and there’s no chance anything will ever happen between us, so let it go!”

Jace scoffs. “Do you ever think he’s calling you that not because of what you look like, but because you told him you were going to lock him up forever and you sent his mother away?”

“You don’t understand.”

Alec decided long ago not to tell his siblings that Magnus only has to stay for a few months. He doesn’t want to burden them further. They already have to deal with the fact that in less than three months, they’ll turn into objects forever and their lives will be over. And he’s is to blame. So telling his siblings that once they leave this earth, he will too and Magnus will be free, seems like an unnecessary weight for them to carry.

“What do I not understand, Alec? You told Magnus that he will be your prisoner forever, and for what reason? If you’re not willing to at least try to make things work with him and save us, what’s the point of all this?”

Alec knows Jace has a point. Ever since the fateful night the curse was enacted, he has had an extremely difficult time keeping both his anger and his fear under control. He’s not sure why he thought imprisoning an older woman would be a good idea, but at that very moment, her trespassing was enough to set him off. He doesn’t even particularly remember what happened once he caught her. It all turns foggy in his mind, which is common when his temper heightens.

He wants to believe that he would have let her go after a few days, or his siblings would, but they were all raised the same. He was never one to allow beggars into his home, and he definitely isn’t one now. But he knows that in several months, the woman would’ve been set free to go live her life. He could’ve easily told Magnus this fact when he was trading his life for her freedom. But he didn’t. And the reason why scares him.

The word _hope_ flashed through his mind as he took in Magnus for the first time, and the word still lingers. He can’t shake it off. Even though he knows Magnus could never fall in love with someone like him—someone covered in scars, someone who can’t control their temper, someone who is wholly unlovable—he saw the word so vividly at the forefront of his thoughts earlier that day. But now, it’s a haunting, distant memory.

Magnus looked disgusted seeing him. Like the very sight of Alec was too much for him to handle. And he can’t help but feel angry at Magnus. He’s aware he has no right to feel this way, but Magnus doesn’t know anything about him. Except that he sent his mother away and told him he was his prisoner for life, even though that’s utterly false.

He breathes deeply and answers as honestly as possible. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I was angry, and I made a snap decision. I have no right to hold Magnus captive here, but…I had hope. I had a moment where I could see you, Isabelle, Max, running around the castle again.”

“That can still happen.” Jace offers a kind smile.

“You saw how he reacted to me. He thinks I’m a monster, and rightfully so. I hate myself for losing my temper so often, but I can’t—I can’t…I’m just like him…” Alec scratches at his neck. He feels the blood rushing to his head as he digs his nails into the scar.

“Alec.” He reaches up and pulls Alec’s hand down. “You’re not like father. You never were and never will be. You just need to learn to control your temper.”

“I can’t. I picture father in my mind and I try to ground myself through that, but it doesn’t work. I see his face an-and his hands, and I let it take over my mind. I’m becoming him and I can’t stop myself.” The defeat is obvious in the way is voice stumbles for grounding.

“Stop it, Alec. I don’t know why the enchantress picked you out of all of us, but it was cruel. And this is exactly what she wants to happen; she wants you to feel horrible about yourself. Don’t give her that power.”

Alec knows his father made him this way, and that’s why the enchantress chose him. He was molded from a young age—turned from an innocent child to a selfish, angry adult. He acknowledges this link, and while others would surely use this to better themselves, Alec allows it to fuel his anger.

He’s given up and he can’t find the strength to pull himself together. He wants so desperately to save his family, but even picturing them leaving him can’t bring him to fix his problems. The promise of an end approaching tempts him all too much.

* * *

 

Magnus stuffs himself with every plate placed in front of him—beef ragout, cheese soufflé, a gray whip that he was slightly wary of, but the dishes promised was delicious. His stomach warms with the varying dishes, and he doesn’t even mind that he’ll most likely feel sick later from the mingling of flavors. It’s only when he begins thinking of his mother that his consumption slows to a grinding halt.

“Would you like anything else?” Isabelle asks, pouring him another cup of tea.

He’s the one who agreed to carry out his days here and he knows one day he’ll find peace with that decision. But his mother. He has no idea where she is, let alone if she’s as hungry as he was mere minutes ago. Remorse begins to crawl under his skin.

When he doesn’t answer after a few moments, she stills. Isabelle seems to ponder an idea for a moment before she leans in to whisper. “Your mother is safe. She left in the daytime when there was no danger to her. Alec was clouded by his anger, so I arranged for somebody to follow your mother until she was out of the thick of the forest.”

Magnus lets out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. He finally feels his lungs able to expand as leans his head into his hands. His mother is alive and safe. Is she sending a search party for him? Would the village even care that he’s disappeared? Even if she doesn’t tell anyone, surely people will notice his absence. Whatever the case may be, Magnus doesn’t care. She’s safe.

He feels tears prick his eyes, and he quickly swipes them away before they have a chance of falling. A shiver runs across his skin, and for the first time that day he doesn’t feel like there’s a crushing weight in danger of ruining him completely.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Isabelle.”

She offers a warm smile. “It’s my pleasure. I apologize for not telling you sooner; I wanted to make sure she was safe first.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to say, so he just smiles once more in her direction and turns his attention to the still hot cup of tea sitting in front of him. He hears her leave the room as his focus shifts to the soft music entering his ears.

He can hear Luke playing faintly in the distance, the enormity of the castle dampening his sound. He knows that if he could, he would spend all day listening to every piece Luke can play. He didn’t have much access to music in the village outside of the local band, which consisted of three old men who couldn’t stay together even if they tried.

He’s about to leave the table when the familiar sound of waddling enters the room. He turns slightly in the chair, which is at least twice his size, and spots Simon entering. The clock’s eyes widen and he stops firmly in his place.

“Does Alec know you’re down here?”

Magnus bristles at the mention of his name. Sure, his mother is safe and that’s all he cares about, but Alec is keeping him captive in this castle forever—or until Magnus can escape. He can’t help grow more curious as to why everybody in the castle follows what Alec says.

“Isabelle invited me, so I’m not quite sure.”

“Oh, okay. I was just wondering if Alec had finally come to his senses. He doesn’t exactly know how to process his emotions and with everything he’s dealt with, I don’t blame him. Although it would be nice if once in a while he apologized for bursting my eardrums when he loses his temper, but what can you do.” Magnus doesn’t think he hears Simon breath once until the last word leaves his mouth.

Magnus thinks about his wording for a few moments before he speaks. “Why do you all let him act in that manner?”

“Well—um you see…t-the best way I can explain it—no, him—is,” Simon stutters out his first words and takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “With everything he’s had to cope with, it’s hard to expect him to act differently. None of us really know how to handle it. We know we shouldn’t just excuse his behavior—I mean, we don’t. But it’s hard to blame him.”

Magnus stays silent. He processes the information he’s just been given, and in his mind he adds a few more pieces to the mystery of this castle. The more vague information he receives, the more interested he becomes. He’s not sure why he’s intrigued by this, whether it’s from spite or curiosity, but he doesn’t prompt anymore questions on the topic.

“How old is everyone here? Do objects even have ages?”

Simon shifts uncomfortably from his place near the doorway, and takes a few more tentative steps closer so Magnus doesn’t have to twist his body in his seat.

“First off, we’re people, not objects. Actually, I suppose we’re objects. But we have human emotions and feel everything humans feel. Except we can’t taste anything. And god do I miss being able to stuff myself with food.” Simon sits for a moment, his eyes and mind lost in memories. He turns back to Magnus after a few moments. “Jace and I are nineteen, Isabelle is almost eighteen, Max is nine, Clary is eighteen, and Alec is nearing twenty one. As for Luke, he refuses to tell me his real age. Last time I tried asking him, he shot an ivory key at my face and then played for a full month without his middle C. He said it was worth it.”

Magnus laughs lightly, and Simon relaxes at the sound. Everyone seems to be dancing around Magnus and watching what they say, but Simon doesn’t hold back. He says whatever comes to his mind, and Magnus truly appreciates it.

“So what do you do in the castle?”

“I don’t have a job here. I was fired years ago by Maryse and Robert, but they were both so busy they didn’t even notice I was still living here. I’ve been residing in this castle ever since, running around and causing trouble. Mostly for Jace.”

“Who?” Magnus tilts his head.

“Jace? Oh, um, he’s my boyfriend? About this,” he jumps up and holds his hand out, “tall. Blond hair. He yelled at you a few hours ago? He seems really rude but—”

“Oh no, not Jace. I meant Robert and Maryse. Will I be meeting them as well?”

“No, they’re not in the castle anymore. Haven’t been for years. In some ways we’re all better off, I mean especially Alec. But of course he blames himself for them leaving. I understand why he’d feel guilty, but even Max is happier.”

A worried look flashes across Simon’s face. A look that says ‘I’ve said too much.’ A look Magnus has come to know well.

“Would you like any dessert?” he suddenly says, louder than necessary. “I’ll go fetch you some dessert. Oh! You have the cart right next to you. I’ll leave you to it! I’ll see you soon!”

He’s about to call for him, but Simon is already through the door. Magnus is impressed with how quickly the clock can move when he needs to.

Magnus looks around the dining hall, and the silence resounds. He can’t really say if anybody else is in the room since they can easily disguise themselves as objects—considering that’s what they are—but he doesn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful. He stares at the dessert cart sitting next to him and picks up a plate.

“Thank you for the meal,” he says to the ceramic. The plate doesn’t move or seem to make any noise, and Magnus laughs to himself. “And now I’m talking to plates.”

He pushes his body away from the table, his posture drooping from the amount of food he consumed only minutes earlier. His legs feel more stable after learning of his mother’s safety, but his entire being is exhausted. All his muscles feel like stone and his brain feels overused, and he knows he needs to go to sleep soon. He hopes Clary doesn’t feel too insulted that all he wants to do is go to rest instead of being fit for some new outfits; although, he’s more than a little bit excited for new clothes made especially for him.

His weak legs take him outside the doors and he passes the ballroom, where Clary and Luke are now besides each other talking. Magnus doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but his ears can’t help but pick up on their quiet conversation.

“You’ll be able to paint soon enough. And then you can fill every room with gorgeous creations.”

“I really hope so. And you’ll be able to truly play the piano, and stun everyone with your compositions.”

“At least I can have a few new people who won’t snore during my performances.”

“I swear it was only one time, Papa!” she giggles.

Magnus smiles and continues walking, feeling like he intruded on a private moment between the two. He begins to feel somewhat jealous of Clary and her father, and their close relationship. Magnus appreciates his mother more than words can explain, but there’s a bond between a child and their father that he’s always wanted to experience.

He approaches the marble stairs, the statues to each side staring him down. He plays through how Simon and Jace took him to his room and his feet begin taking him to the east wing. But before he can make it up the many steps, a sound noises from behind him. It echoes through the empty room, bouncing off the marble flooring and barren walls. He turns around and finds that it came from the west wing.

He tries to force himself away, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away. With the way Jace and Simon were speaking of it, his curiosity only grew, and now that he’s faced with going in or not, his inquisitive nature takes over him.

At the top of the stairs, a hallway lays before Magnus. Lining the sides is a few metal armor pieces, and for a second he worries they’ll begin to move on their accord. But when nothing but light shifts in the hall, he continues.

He knows that there are people constantly cleaning the castle, but dust has found a home on his surroundings, as if nobody ventures through here. Paintings of nobles lay on the floor, and Magnus assumes they used to live in the castle long ago. Going by their out of date fashion and the broken wooden frames, he infers that the portraits have to be a hundred years old, if not more.

A slight breeze runs through the hall, only adding to the eeriness of the wing. The hairs on his arms stand up at the sudden temperature change. Only a few candles light the way for him, so he stumbles a few times on carpet that’s folded up, creating an optimal area for him to trip.

Magnus finally reaches the end of the hallway and follows his senses into the large room ahead of him. He shivers at the sight.

Dozens of pieces of furniture lay strewn across the ground, splintering pieces sitting at the tips of his shoes. Tattered drapes hang from the ceiling, some torn so far that the bottoms skate across the marble. In the breeze, they become almost like dancers, pieces floating seamlessly in the air.

Busts of royals sit in concaves of the wall, but most have chunks taken out of them. By the looks of it, pure force was used to break them apart, the edges looking sharp to the touch. His eyes catch the painting hanging above one of the most destroyed busts.

A huge rip starts at the very top of the painting and runs down through the canvas, stopping inches above the bottom. The edges are frayed, and Magnus reaches up to push the picture back together. Immediately, he recognizes a pair of hazel eyes. Magnus gasps.

He can’t process what his mind is trying to tell him, because that can’t be Alec. There’s no way that sweet, young looking boy is the monster who has vowed to lock him away forever.

Alongside him are two stoic figures, who Magnus assumes are his parents. Neither is touching Alec, except for the father’s hand placed on his shoulder. His fingers seem to curl into Alec’s arm, the force evident in the way the boy’s jacket crinkles under the touch. The woman’s eyes pierce through Magnus, and he sees wickedness behind her expression. But nothing compares to the evil apparent in the older man’s face.

Then he turns to look at Alec. He must only be twelve or thirteen in the portrait, his adolescence obvious by his thinner frame and his round face. Concealed behind a stone cold face, far too serious for a child so young, Magnus sees fear. His eyes are empty and tired, and even though every other face in the picture has no smile, Alec’s frown seems natural.

The artist must have taken every detail into consideration because the portrait is haunting. With the way some of the negative features of the group is shown, Magnus feels that the artist must know the family situation well.  

Magnus lets his hand drop from the canvas, the flap folding over without the support. He turns from the portrait, he eyes lingering for a few seconds longer.

He bumps into a table sitting behind him, the noise clamoring in the cold room. His nimble fingers manage to catch it before it hits the ground completely, and he finds himself stumbling over the wood. He almost apologizes to it, not knowing if he bumped into a person or not, but as he looks up from where his feet caught on a step, his eyes find something much more interesting.

Sitting a few feet away, a shining rose encased in a glass dome sits upon a marble slab. A pink light shines from it, pulsing every few moments. He feels himself pulled to the flower, his legs easily taking him to it.

When he’s mere inches away, he realizes that the rose isn’t actually sitting on anything. It’s floating on its own accord. It’s a bright red, reminding Magnus of the color of blood. Although he knows that flowers are usually associated with life and birth, he can’t help but find this one menacing. Scattered across the marble beneath the flower are petals, which have no resemblance to the ones still currently attached to the base.

The petals on the marble are wrinkled and frail, and are no longer the vibrant red they once were. A petal is dangerously close to falling, hanging on by mere strength. It’s only a matter of time before it drops to its untimely end.

He knows he shouldn’t be surprised by anything in this castle anymore, but he’s mesmerized by the rose floating in front of him. Against his own volition, his hand reaches up to touch the glass casing. His fingers brush against the cool surface.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Magnus startles from where he stands, and turns to find Alec’s large figure running towards him. His legs take him into Magnus’ personal space quickly.

“What did you do?” he yells.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Why are you in here?”

Magnus backs away from Alec, his feet giving way as he stumbles on a step. “I didn’t—”

“Get out!” His voice booms in the room, the sound deafening Magnus. “Get out of here! Leave at once!”

With his heart pounding out of his chest and his mind set on fleeing, Magnus allows his legs to take him out of the room. Take him as far away from Alec as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're really not liking each other all that much. If you didn't like their limited interactions in the past two chapters, then you're definitely going to LOVE the next chapter. Get your little hearts ready for that sweet, sweet slow burn.
> 
> As always, you can find me at 'doddario' on tumblr!! Leave me a comment, or come message me. Love you all ❤


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus runs away. Action ensues. Pain, both emotional and physical, always hurts. Gifts are given. Maybe hate isn’t the most accurate word anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies. 
> 
> First off, I'm sosososo sorry. It's been about two months since I last updated and I feel so horrible, but ohymgosh y'all. I had college finals that were hell, then went on vacation, and now I have summer classes. But also can we freaking talk about episode 2.13?? Because oh my GOD I'm never gonna get over it jesus. How freaking cute were they, giving casual kisses and saying the three magic words again. Oh my heart.
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Child abuse mentions  
> \- Suicidal thoughts/suicide mentions  
> \- Blood
> 
> As always, this is dedicated to the loml, Liv. I love you so much. Enjoy my angels!

Magnus doesn’t look back. Even as he trips on the same fold of carpet in the hallway, he keeps his eyes trained forwards, his mind hyper focused on getting out of the castle.

His breathing becomes labored as he descends the stairs, and his shoes aren’t helping with his quick escape. The marble causes him to slip a few times, his breath catching in his throat as he loses gripping, only to find it a few steps down. The sound of his heels clicking against the marble mingles with his own hurried breaths. Blood is pumping through him at an alarming rate, fear mixed with adrenaline. But he ignores the banging in his chest, the rock in his stomach that’s growing with every step, and continues through the entryway.

From behind him, Magnus can hear the pleading of Isabelle and Jace, the worry in their voices evident.

“Magnus, no! Where are you going?”

“Wait, Magnus! Please!”

He doesn’t let their shouts slow him down as he tears open the front door and braces for the crisp, snow filled air. As soon as his skin meets the cold, it bites at his cheeks and his nose, tingling as it spreads. It feels like it moves in lightning streaks, starting at a base point and trickling down. In front of him, his breath turns to vapor, releasing in quick puffs.

The village is quite a distance away, and without some sort of protection from the cold, he’ll never make it back, let alone survive the night. This thought, of course, didn’t cross his mind as he was dashing away from Alec, and he definitely isn’t going to prance back in and ask kindly for a coat.  

For a few seconds, he allows himself to stop and breathe deeply. He doesn’t have any supplies and his thoughts are completely scattered. Even in the midst of the chaos, his mind doesn’t fail him, and he remembers Philippe must be around here somewhere. He left the horse in front of the castle, naively thinking it wouldn’t take too long to find his mother. But now here he was, the sky darkening, the snow blustering around him, and his small town is hours away. Philippe is his only hope of seeing his mother again, but he has no idea if he’s roaming the grounds or if he ran off.

He racks through his brain and thinks back to when he first entered the grounds. In his mind he sees the maze of the garden, the pillars leading to the entrance, the east and west wings, and on their own accord, his feet hurriedly take him around the left side of the castle. Magnus vaguely remembers seeing a small hideaway, and he breathes a sigh of relief that his mind didn’t fail him when a small stable appears. Philippe moves towards the gate upon spotting Magnus, happy to see a familiar face.

Magnus approaches Philippe carefully and assess’ his condition, scared that whoever brought him here didn’t act with care. The stable seems big enough, though, and he’s surrounded by enough hay and water to last a lifetime. It’s even better than the one Philippe stays in back at home, the walls stretching further for him to roam, and the gate consisting of metal instead of weak sticks found on walks around the village.

A gust of wind travels through the air and Magnus can’t hold back the shivers that run through him, traveling up from his toes to his head. The cold breaks through his thin clothes with ease, and he begins searching for anything that can preserve some of his body heat—he’s not too keen on freezing overnight. Hanging by a hook on the nearest plank of wood is a dark cloak, and he takes no time to throw it over his shoulders.

Immediately, heat spreads where the fabric lays on him. He takes a moment to relish the warmth, the feeling welcome after only minutes in the snow. The cloak hangs heavy on him, which is a feat considering Magnus is normally much taller than others, and his shoulders are far broader. He bristles when he realizes who the cloak must belong to.

Alec. With the yells still ringing in Magnus’ ears, he’s not sure what to think of the man they came from. Isabelle, Simon, Jace, Clary, Luke—all of them relay a kind, generous Alec. But Magnus can’t accept that. Not while all he’s seen from him is hatred. And it wasn’t just directed at Magnus, who is a stranger to Alec after all. He yelled at his siblings loud enough that Magnus could swear the ground was shaking.

The rose. Obviously the rose is important to him, but Magnus has never seen somebody so protective over an object before. It may’ve been dark in the room, with snow blurring the light entering through the windows, but he could see the fear and anger in Alec’s eyes. He looked absolutely rampant, and Magnus can’t even begin to imagine what the rose must mean to him. He may be from a small village, but even he knows roses don’t just float or emit light. There must be magic stored away within its petals, which isn’t too foolish to think in an enchanted castle.

And okay, maybe Magnus shouldn’t have gone into the west wing in the first place. He was told not to go there by several people, but how can he fault himself when he’s a naturally curious person? When he’s told not do something, it always makes his need to do it grow; that’s not a crime.

No matter what, though, he did not deserve to be screamed at. It’s clear this man has some kind of anger issues and even if Magnus went somewhere he wasn’t supposed to, he didn’t bring harm to any of Alec’s possessions. All he did was walk into a room and touch a glass case for no longer than a second; there wasn’t even enough time to register the cold of the glass beneath his fingertips.

He grounds himself when Philippe whinnies, pushing against his hand to grab his attention. Magnus doesn’t take any time to secure the cloak beneath his throat, bring the hood over his head, and swing his leg over the horses back. The heel of his foot finds Philippe’s side with a tap, and the horse gallops out of the stable.

Magnus is overwhelmingly grateful for the cloak wrapped around him when his bare face meets the bite of the wind fighting against him. He flinches at the sting and brings his arm up to protect his eyes from the force of the storm.

The wind doesn’t take mercy on anybody, and it doesn’t take note on who’s trying to make a hasty escape. It screams at Magnus, the sound whistling in his ears and burrowing deep inside him. It seems to be warning him with very gust, but he doesn’t have time to think about his actions. If he’s going to make it back to his mother, he needs to leave now before the true force of the storm makes itself known.

In front of the looming castle is a maze of dying flowers and trees, some patiently waiting for spring to arrive. No plant he passes seems to be doing well in this weather, and each bud has closed until further notice. It doesn’t help that as Philippe flies past them, several of the weaker leaves and buds fall off, landing in the snow waiting for victims beneath them.

The gates are already open, inviting Magnus to pass through. Philippe doesn’t slow as the bars of the entrance fall behind them, but he does startle when they slam shut a few moments later. Magnus whips his head around to find the source before he’s brought back to reality that the entire castle is alive. Not to mention the wind is strong enough to push a grown man over, let alone an old, weathered gate.

As they pass tree after tree, for the life of him Magnus can’t remember the path he took to get to the castle. Of course he recalls hopping onto Philippe and setting down a winding forest trail, but everything else is a blur. His mother was the only thing on his mind, and memorizing each turn wasn’t really on his to-do list.

Luckily, Philippe takes to the forest and masterfully weaves through the trees and onto a path. The horse takes the same path every few months with his mother, not to mention the poor animal has traveled back and forth from the village to the castle all day.

The path becomes darker with every move, and a chill runs down Magnus’ spine when Philippe slows to a complete stop. His hooves dance anxiously in the snow, disturbing the pristine layer accumulating of white powder.

“What’s wrong? We have to keep going.” He urges the horse to move, but his legs refuse to move from the spot. “Philippe, we have to go!”

A growl sounds from ahead on the path, and Magnus barely has time to duck out of the way before a wolf is barreling towards him. It skims past his head, landing masterfully on its four feet close behind them.

“Philippe, go! Go!” he screams.

The horse gallops, his steps becoming frenzied as wolves surround them on both sides. Magnus looks to his left, bile rising in his throat at the sight of three huge animals, all baring their teeth in a show of dominance. They want Magnus to know that they’re in charge, and there’s no way he’s escaping without becoming their dinner.

He pulls at Philippe to make a quick turn away from the pack, but it doesn’t fool them. Each and every one sharply circles around the pair, snapping as they gain ground. Horses are fast, especially when spooked, but these wolves are looking for food, and nothing can stop them.

A wolf that shows no sign of slowing down lowers its neck, looking ready to pounce. Just as it bounds off its hind legs, Magnus kicks his leg out at full force and knocks it in the chest. He hears a slight whimper and sees the wolf fly back, feeling a moment of pride before another is lunging for him.

The sound of a jaw snapping closed, teeth meeting teeth, roars in his ear. It didn’t jump far enough to sink its teeth into Magnus’ neck, but its claws almost find their way onto his thigh.

A frozen lake comes into focus, and Magnus doesn’t have time to hope that it can hold the weight of a horse and a fully grown man before Philippe rushes onto it. It slows them down significantly, and Philippe’s hooves slip beneath them.

He turns around to see the proximity of the wolves and gasps as one launches onto Philippe’s leg. The horse whinnies loudly as the predator sinks its teeth, but he bucks at the wolf, successfully freeing himself. In turn, Magnus is thrown clean off, his body landing heavily against the ice.

Pain shoots through his shoulder, most of the impact being taken by his side. For a few seconds he lays there trying to catch his breath. But the fall was so unexpected and forceful that all air is pushed out of his lungs. He coughs violently to begin air flow again, his body shaking.

With adrenaline still pumping through him, he stands up once he’s managed to get some air in his lungs. Philippe backs away from the pack, his hooves not finding any traction. Magnus looks around for anything to protect them with, and his eyes land on a large stick sitting on the edge of the lake.

He wraps his hands around it, turning it a few times to find a good grip. It’s rough against his skin, but Magnus doesn’t register it with the cold now stealing his touch, numbing his fingers.

He yells to gain the attention of the pack before he realizes that this simply means they’ll be surrounding him, and all he has is a stick for defense. The plan works, but soon enough at least half a dozen wolves slowly approach him. With ears folded back, tails held high, their snarls enter his ears.

When the first wolf gains enough courage to attack, Magnus is ready as he’ll ever be. Setting his weight strong, he tries his best to dig his feet into the slippery surface. He uses his shoulders, his back, his legs—all the force in his body to make the hit worthwhile. Successfully, he makes contact with the wolf’s neck, but it’s only pushed several feet away.

With the next swing against another wolf, he makes sure to hit the ribcage in hopes it will send the animal farther. Thankfully he’s right, but he doesn’t have time to celebrate, because the next animal is far smarter than the others.

Instead of trying to attack Magnus head on, it grabs ahold of his weapon. Immediately he feels the pull of the strong animal, his shoulder burning. His fingers tighten on the stick, but the wolf has nature on its side. It yanks its head back and forth like its ripping the neck of its prey, and Magnus is no match for it. The ice isn’t forgiving, and his feet go sliding underneath him. 

In another quick, violent pull, the stick goes flying out of his hand and lands among the trees. Magnus’s breath gets stuck in his throat and his eyes widen as the wolf stalks towards him, poised to strike. The growl that was growing deep in the wolf’s chest fluctuates as Magnus makes direct eye contact with it.

With its fangs on display, foam seeping from between its teeth and falling, Magnus sees its legs bend. He scrabbles along the ground, his hands and feet using the last of his strength to back away from the animal. But it’s no use. The heat from his hands causes the ice to melt beneath his fingertips, and he slips on the excess water. In his moment of weakness, he covers his head and squeezes his eyes shut at the sight of the wolf leaping.

He braces himself for the pain, ready for fangs to sink into his skin. He thinks of his mother—the sound of her voice, the stories she told when he woke up shaking from nightmares when he was young. He sees his mother and his idealization of his father, a man greater than he would ever be.

But pain doesn’t hit him. Instead of being torn to pieces, a whimper and a loud thud travel across the lake. Magnus’ eyes shoot open and struggle to focus on the blur of action before him. Bodies are being thrown around, and his head dizzies with every motion. When he sees who saved him from being ripped apart, everything else in the world disappears.

* * *

 

Alec knows Magnus didn’t touch the rose —he’s tried to open the glass casing on a number of occasions to pick the petals off himself—but the second he saw Magnus’ slender fingers reaching for it, he couldn’t keep his temper in.

Isn’t that always his excuse? He loses his temper for no apparent reason, and then hates himself for it minutes later.

But seeing Magnus near the thing that holds his life in his hands—it was too much; his vision blurred, his neck ached to be scratched, and his father entered his mind. Again, one of his many excuses. But he has no other explanation for his behavior. Both his father and his anger are at always right below the surface, ready to be utilized in whatever way necessary.

He didn’t mean what he said to Magnus. Of course he didn’t. Hell, Magnus was his last hope in breaking this curse once and for all. And yet he screamed for him to leave, to get out. He can imagine Magnus sitting on his bed in his room, complaining to Clary about how monstrous his captor is. He has every right to.

Alec knows there’s no hope for love, so that’s why he’s sitting here, staring at the rose. This little flower that holds his life, along with his families lives, in its core. He’s really not sure who he can blame more for the way his life has gone so far—the rose, or himself. Both are equally at fault.

“Alec! What in God’s name did you do?” Isabelle’s stern voice enters the room.

Alec turns from the rose and finds not just Isabelle, but Simon and Jace as well.

“What did you do to Magnus?” Jace asks, worry in his eyes.

Alec sighs in frustration and walks past the group, heading towards the door. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together, both itching for his neck. He’s already beaten himself up for the situation, and he doesn’t need a lecture from his siblings either.

“Alec, don’t you dare walk away right now.” Alec slows at this, Isabelle sounding incredibly angry. “Magnus left.”

His breath gets caught in his throat and his feet come to a halt. “What?” he whispers, his voice breaking.

“He stormed out of here and into the freezing cold. What did you do to him, Alec?”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest of what they have to say. Thanks to his long limbs and speed, he quickly finds himself in the middle of a snowstorm, looking for any signs of Magnus.

Concern eats at him as he approaches the front gates, still not seeing him anywhere. Not only could Magnus be frozen in ice by now, but Alec hasn’t stepped foot out of the castle in years.

Ever since the curse, Alec has never gone past the gates that have shielded him from the outside world. Occasionally, and only on his good days, he will go outside with his family and mess around in the snow. But he never comes close to the gates, in fear that somebody could pass by and get a glimpse of him.

Yet Alec doesn’t hesitate one bit as he exits the castle grounds.

Grabbing something to keep him warm was not on his mind, but he doesn’t notice the bitter cold that must be swirling around him. Both the adrenaline and the need to make sure Magnus is alive keep him distracted enough to bear the weather, even if just for a few minutes.

With the snow picking up, footprints are covered up in a matter of a few gusts. Any sign of human life dies within seconds in this weather, the bitter cold taking victim after victim. He knows it’s no use to look for footprints, but he desperately searches the ground as he’s running, his mind scattering with his eyes darting movements. Alec’s not sure he’s going the right way until he hears the evident sounds of howls coming from down the path in front of him.

The trail winds through the thick of the forest, and the snowfall almost makes it feel serene. But now all he can hear is his own jagged breaths and the hungry growls of wolves. And does his heart jump into his throat when he hears a human scream.

In a few seconds, Magnus lies in front of him on the ground of a frozen lake, face to face with a wolf. The animal’s legs are hunched, ready to pounce. Alec’s feet are glued in place for a beat or two, his mind trying to catch up with his eyes.

Before his legs have time to inform his mind of what they’re doing, Alec launches himself into the side of the wolf, the force enough to push them both to the ground. The wolf, being much lighter than Alec, lands roughly against the nearest tree.

With the several seconds of peace as the wolves plan their next attack, he looks for Magnus, finding him still lying on the ground. His heart lurches, praying that Magnus wasn’t injured before he could make it to him. He meets his eyes, a look of surprise evident on his face with no sign of real agony. He stares for a beat too long because Magnus’ eyes widen in fear and he yells.

“Watch out!”

This gives Alec a split second to react to the next set of wolves jumping towards him.

Instead of using his body weight to launch the animal, he wrestles with this one for a bit, using his shoulder strength. Wolves are incredibly strong animals, but Alec is surprised with how he’s fighting them off.

So the curse may’ve had one perk. He knew that it gave him incredible strength, but the enchantress intended that it be used against other humans. To give him the strength to destroy other people, like his father, and see how he dealt with it. But now he’s here, using it to his advantage.

The next wolf finds its way onto his back and one by one, uses its sharpened claws to tear into his skin. He grits his teeth, trying to his best to suppress a yell of pain, and throws the animal off.

Another comes from below and scratches at his thigh, but he’s able to kick it away before it can make a serious mark. Nonetheless, stinging rings throughout his body, and eventually he can’t tell where one cut ends and another begins. His hand reaches to his injuries and immediately is damp with blood. He can’t feel when he gains a new injury, the wolves attacking with pure strength and Alec countering them with strength from pain.

As his eyes search for Magnus again, his entire body lurches forward when the largest wolf latches onto him. Before he knows it, the animal sinks its teeth deep into his shoulder and yanks. He screams in anguish, his shoulder feeling like it’s ripping away from his body, every muscle brutally torn and fire spreading through him. It’s a violent pain, close to the vice like grip the enchantresses magic had on him. He throws the animal off, his arm collapsing against his body in defeat.

The wolf whimpers in pain, but it quickly stands up and snarls. It challenges him to another fight, expecting Alec to give up, but he doesn’t back down. He stares into the wolf’s eyes, one of which has a scar running through it, until it begins to walk away. One by one, each wolf follows the alpha back into the forest.

Alec lets out a strangled breath. He felt each rip of his skin, but only then does he feel how his entire body is shaking, the cold and his injuries finally catching up to him. His body refuses to move against attempted steps. Collapsing against the ground, his head meets the ice.

He moans deeply, a thrum now traveling through his head only adding to his injuries. Standing a few meters in front of him is Magnus, his hands resting on the horse he must’ve taken to escape. He can’t read Magnus’ face, especially not from the ground, but he watches him closely.

Alec knows he deserves to be left to be ravaged by wolves. Magnus of all people has been at the end of his yelling enough to know that. And maybe, deep within him—or not so deep within him—Alec hopes Magnus leaves him. The enchantress made him acutely aware that he cannot take his own life, but wolves were never mentioned in the curse. And if the suffering could end sooner, he would take the opportunity in a heartbeat.

Considering Magnus will never fall in love with him, being left by him is his wish granted. He has no other chances to find love, so this death is all he’s ever asked for.

But Magnus continues to stare at him, eyes looking deeply into his own. And when he turns away and begins to fiddle with the rope on the horse, not being able to look at him too long, Alec knows it’s over. It’s time to accept that these are his last moments. The wolves are smart enough to find the weak prey that’s left behind. So when after a few moments Magnus begins to walk slowly over, taking his time over the ice, Alec’s already ragged breathing hitches in his throat.

When he’s within reach, he kneels down, and his fingers go up to button securing the cloak he’s wearing. He slips it off his shoulders and lays it carefully on Alec’s beaten form. Almost immediately, warmth spreads through his torso and arms. He’s still shaking, his body using it as a way to not pass out from the pain radiating through him, but the cloak reduces the violent movements.

Just after placing the cloak on him, Magnus peels it back along with Alec’s shirt where he sees the most major injury. He can only imagine the ghastly sight of the injury, and Alec fully expects to see him recoil upon the view of this and his scars—but he doesn’t hesitate at all.

Instead, Alec is the one to flinch when Magnus’ hand lightly touches one of his scars. This startles Magnus, probably afraid of Alec snapping at him, and his hand freezes several inches above him. He doesn’t want Magnus to see the scars scattering across his skin, even if they’re visible when his shirt isn’t completely ripped to shreds.

Magnus only pauses for a few moments before continuing to assess the wound, avoiding any previous pink scars. Alec watches Magnus’ face as he studies his body intently. His tongue is sticking slightly out as a focusing tactic, but his expression is fairly neutral. Alec can’t tell if he’s angry, worried, or totally impassive. He feels naked and vulnerable, despite being clothed and covered in blood.

Magnus drapes the cloak back over him, and Alec winces as the fabric meets his open wounds. He looks to Magnus for help, laughing inwardly at how pathetic he must look, and finds him leaning close enough to whisper.

“I need you to help me,” he says, his eyes finally meeting Alec’s again. “I need you to stand up.”

He stares at Magnus for a moment, unable to move or speak. Worry is on Magnus’ face, and Alec can’t figure out why. Is he worried the wolves are going to come back? If that’s the case, Alec can surely agree.

He nods and fills his lungs. The cold air stings as it passes down his throat, and he grounds himself with the addition of more pain. He attempts to get on his arms and legs, but underneath his weight they fold. Taking several deep breaths, he tries again, only to fall back onto the ice. On the second fall, his shoulder hits squarely against the hard surface, and he attempts to stifle his yell by biting his cheek while the pain ripples through him. This tactic doesn’t work, and he only draws blood in his mouth before he screams, a single sob racking through his body.

Strong hands are on him then, and they usher him to stand, offering much needed support and strength. Even his bones are in crippling pain, but he grits his teeth and tries to follow Magnus’ movements. 

Magnus doesn’t push him and instead holds onto Alec tightly and patiently waits for him to move on his own accord. On the first try with Magnus’ helps, he can’t find enough strength within him and he falls backwards. Magnus’ body is there to catch him, propping his torso up with his knee. Alec allows himself to relax into this for a moment before trying again.

Once he’s standing—if shaking uncontrollably on two useless limbs counts as standing—Magnus carefully pulls his arm over his shoulders, so he’s now bearing most of Alec’s weight. It takes triple the amount of strength to not only carry Alec’s enormous weight, but also to lead him across ice and get him onto a horse.

Alec tries to help as much as possible, but he can feel himself losing consciousness. His vision blurs as he’s hobbling, and he knows if he doesn’t make it to the horse soon, he’s going to fall right back onto the ground. This will only make Magnus’ job much harder, so he does his best to control the shaking and get to the horse.

Once they reach the animal, Magnus’ hands move from Alec’s back to his waist. He doesn’t change this position, and keeps his hands in place to tell Alec he can move whenever he’s ready.

As Alec sucks air into his lungs, every breath causes his vision to go black, beginning on the sides of the scene before him and seeping into his direct vision. His head droops downwards when a sudden pain hits his neck, looking like he’s falling asleep standing up. A ringing begins in his ear and fog filters into his brain, and the nature around him goes silent.

In the distance he hears somebody talking, but he can’t piece the words together. He tries to ask whoever spoke to repeat themselves, but his voice gets caught, cutting off in his throat. His vision, his hearing, and his mind clouds over—either the blood loss or the pain enough for him to pass out.

Only minutes later he wakes up again. His body jolts up and down, as if somebody is shaking him awake. He lifts his head up, his neck seizing from the sudden use and falling down again. His head feels filled with stones, and the movement of his neck awakens the pain in his shoulder. The agony he feels causes his eyes to slam shut and his jaw to clench, a way to minimize the pain and keep from yelling.

When he opens his tired eyelids to see who want stop shaking him, nobody is in front of him. In fact, the only things he sees are trees passing either side of him. For a moment, he thinks death finally took pity on him.

Consciousness arrives for a short while, and in that time he recognizes that he is in fact on a horse, an arm is wrapped around his stomach to hold him steady, and a body is pressed flush against his back.

* * *

 

Magnus takes the washcloth, wringing it out into the bucket of water. He doesn’t want the water to run down his hands or onto Alec, because knowing Alec, he would find it as a reason to complain. 

Realizing he let out too much water, the cloth having no power to clean up any wounds now, he hesitates slightly before dunking back into the deep red substance. After cleaning each cut meticulously, the water is filthy, and probably won’t do much in the way of whisking away excess blood.

The bite mark on Alec’s shoulder runs at least eight inches lengthwise, and quite a few widthwise. It looks like the wolf sunk its teeth in and ripped away, because each tooth mark has been torn even further. Magnus didn’t want to make the situation worse, but when he saw Alec’s wound in the forest, he nearly passed out himself.

When he brings the cloth up to the deep bite mark on his shoulder, which refuses to stop bleeding despite countless attempts at cleaning it, Alec yells in pain and recoils his arm.

Alec lays in his extravagant bed which is far too big for one person to be sleeping in, and is stripped down to nothing considering how extensive his wounds are, stretching from his ankles to his shoulder. Jace put some towels down to catch any blood that congealed and fell, but it was really no use. In a matter of minutes they were sopping wet, so Jace opted out of towels altogether, since they would have to change the sheets anyway.

Magnus hasn’t spoken to him at all since getting back into the castle. He shared a short conversation with Isabelle and Jace, recurring to them what happened, but to Alec himself, he hadn’t said a word. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, which is odd being that talking to strangers is a strength of his. But the circumstances are definitely different. Alec is the one drove him to leave in the first place. But he didn’t have to come out in the middle of a snow storm to find him. And he definitely didn’t need to singlehandedly fight off a pack of wolves and then get harmed in the process.

And Magnus can’t help but question why Alec did what he did. His mood can flip from relatively neutral to fuming rage in the blink of an eye, but Magnus can’t imagine Alec going from angry to willing to risk his life for someone he screamed at in a few minutes. It doesn’t make any sense to Magnus, but he’s done questioning the people in this castle.

Magnus holds in a sigh, knowing that Alec must be in pain and can’t help his reactions, and says as calmly as possible, “Hold still.”

He brings the cloth to his skin to flush out the blood that has once again appeared, but the instant exposed flesh is touched, Alec yanks his arm away forcefully.

“That hurts!” His face contorts, the sudden movement more painful than the wound itself.

“If you held still it wouldn’t hurt as much,” he bites in return, his patience slipping.

Alec furrows his brow, and huffs in disbelief. “Well if you hadn’t run away, none of this would’ve happened.”

Magnus stands up at this, gaining height over Alec’s form. “Well if you hadn’t screamed at me I wouldn’t have run away!”

“Well you shouldn’t have been in the west wing!”

“Well you should learn to control your temper!”

Alec grunts in frustration, said temper rising at not having the last word, and whips his head away. Now fully exposed to Magnus is a large scar on his neck, running a few inches in length. The scar is from a previous injury and not the recent attack since its wrinkled, pink flesh, and Magnus wonders where Alec received it from. In fact, he wonders where Alec received all the wounds from.

While he was stripping Alec of his clothes that were stuck to his wounds with blood acting as paste, Magnus noticed the scars littering his entire body. Almost every inch had a mark on it, some so small they couldn’t be seen unless up close, and some, like the one on his neck, standing quite large. But unlike the others that all looked fairly uniform, this scar had indentations in it, like a handprint left in wet sand.   

Magnus goes back to work, cleaning each cut and ignoring Alec’s protests. Alec’s siblings, along with Simon, stand near the back of the room, observing the scene playing out in front of them. He asks Jace to fetch a new bucket of water because with each dip of the washcloth, the liquid is nearly black.

Alec, who hasn’t said a word since his outburst, is staring blankly at the wall. Every now and again he mutters under his breath, a way of controlling the pain and his anger together, but he’s stopped whining and is keeping quiet. This allows Magnus to work much more efficiently, and he’s done when another yawn hits him.

“I’ll bandage these up tomorrow after they’ve been exposed for a bit,” Magnus says as he stands. “Try to get some rest.”

Alec of course doesn’t say anything in return, and turns his back towards Magnus and plants his head on a pillow. He can’t help but think how much it must hurt Alec to move his body like that, but he seems to be set on being as defiant as possible, so Magnus doesn’t really care anymore if he gets hurt by his anger. He sighs deep in his throat and walks straight out, past Isabelle and the others, who have been standing there silently all night.

He goes to his room, which admittedly is little difficult because the castle is maze. Several halls pass by before he finds the right one, and eventually he locates his room. He’s beyond relieved to see the bed that has since been cleaned up and freed of dust. He naively thinks he’ll be able to fall right to sleep from the exhausting events of the day, but he doesn’t. In fact, he finds himself pacing from corner to corner of the room, which is far better than lying in bed awake, staring at the ceiling.

A knock on the door alerts Magnus to a visitor, and in walks Isabelle and Jace, who both have defeat painted on their faces.

“Magnus,” Isabelle begins, her voice low and quiet, far different than the lively Isabelle he met earlier in the day. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for saving Alec.”

“I’m sure he would argue that he saved me and I just stood there, absolutely useless.” Magnus quickly stops himself from taking his own frustrations out on them. He knows it was neither of their faults. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Jace steps closer. “We really do want to thank you. You had no obligation to do what you did, but you saved our brother.”

Magnus nods his head, appreciating the genuineness of Jace’s voice. He thinks about the family for a moment, questions running through his mind. The thoughts bouncing around his brain are jumbled up, but he manages to piece them together. He doesn’t want to seem insensitive, but surely he’s earned some information.

“You all love him so much,” he begins slowly, picking each word with care. “And I know he’s your brother, but he couldn’t have been like this as a child. So…” Magnus doesn’t know how to continue so he gestures vaguely into the air, but Isabelle understands his unspoken question.

“He wasn’t always like this. Sure, he was the responsible one who kept the two of us out of trouble and he didn’t goof around nearly as much, but he was so kind and gentle. Our father, on the other hand, was not. And when Alec got to a certain age that our father deemed old enough, he decided it was time to mold him into who he wanted him to be.” Isabelle pauses, her brows stitching together. “He really messed him up.”

“So this curse on you, on this castle…”

“It wasn’t his fault. He’ll blame himself whenever he gets the chance because that’s who Alec is, but it’s as much our fault as it is his,” Jace says, stepping in while Isabelle takes a moment to compose herself.

“And is there a way to fix this curse? To change it back? I assume you weren’t a candelabra since birth.”

Isabelle and Jace shake their heads in unison, sadness in their expressions. “It’s nothing for you to worry yourself about.”

Magnus yawns deeply and excuses himself. He doesn’t want them to think he’s grown suddenly tired of the conversation, but the yawns keep escaping, the exhaustion having finally caught up to him.

Isabelle smiles gently. “And I think it’s time for you to get some rest as well. We’ll all feel better in the morning.”

“Goodnight.”

“Thank you again, Magnus,” Jace says, waving a flame Magnus’ way, the door shutting tightly behind them.

* * *

 

Before Magnus returns to dress Alec’s wounds the next morning, he visits Luke downstairs after grabbing a quick plate of breakfast. He could use somebody who’s a little more impartial than Jace and Isabelle to talk to, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want a calming tune or two.

“I hear you’re quite the hero,” Luke says once Magnus has taken a seat near him.

He laughs under his breath and shakes his head at Luke, brushing off the compliment with a wave of his hand.

“Really though, thank you for helping him.” His voice goes a few notes lower. “I’ve seen that kid go through a lot in my time at this castle, and having to add ‘eaten by wolves’ really wouldn’t have been fair.”

Magnus smiles in return, and averts the conversation away from himself. This is one of Magnus’ greatest powers, to keep so much hidden with his words. “So I’ve heard. His father doesn’t sound like an outstanding citizen.”

Luke lets out a long breath, a few ivories vibrating. “You can say that again. The amount of times I wanted to give Robert a piece of my mind and knock him out is impossible to count. That man did not deserve the children he got. Neither did their mother.”

“And you? I know you’re Clary’s father, but did you have a wife?”

“I do, although I’m not sure a person who I haven’t seen in years, who most likely thinks I’m dead, counts as a wife,” he says.

“She thinks you’re dead?”

“Sadly this curse hasn’t just affected those in the castle.”

His downturned eyes and the sadness lacing his voice alert Magnus to not push the topic, so he hums to show Luke he was listening and out of respect doesn’t respond. Luke seems to be caught up in his own thoughts, and Magnus immediately feels guilt building in his stomach. It was never his intention to upset him by bringing up tender memories.

“Luke?”

He takes a beat to answer. “Yes?”

“If it’s not too much to ask, do you mind playing one of your compositions?”

Like night turning into day, his eyes widen and his ivories tingle in excitement. “Of course. I have one that I thought up a few weeks ago that I’m sure you’ll love.”

The first note hits Magnus’ ears, and he’s lost himself in it. It was exactly what he needed. He enjoys every second of it, bathing in the gentle tune. It’s so unlike the first piece he heard from him, but it’s no less beautiful.

He says goodbye to Luke, thanking him profusely, and then heads up the staircase.

Magnus finds himself walking slower than usual, mostly because he’s dreading seeing Alec again. He’s not sure why, since Alec is fairly weak right now, is probably sleeping, and after he said what was on his mind, he no longer complains like a child. Hopefully he can get in and dress his wounds while he’s still got some leftover sleep in him.

Upon entering Alec’s chamber, Magnus realizes how wrong he was.

Alec doesn’t look up at the sudden intrusion, probably expecting Isabelle or Jace, and Magnus can see he rolls his eyes.

“Isabelle, I already know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to—” His sentence gets cut short when he looks up and makes contact with Magnus. He quickly averts his eyes when he realizes who it is, and coughs under his breath as if he’s ridding any evidence he spoke at all.

Magnus stays in his place in the doorway. If Alec were anybody else, he would feel comfortable making a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t want a yelling match to happen. So he tries to figure out how Alec’s feeling based off his expressive features. He is in no mood to deal with an angry Alec, but he can’t find any hints of distaste on his face. Continuing on into the room, he sits on the stool next to the bed and takes a deep breath.

The tray of medicinal supplies has been cleaned, along with a fresh bucket of water readily available. He finds the cloths to dress the wounds next to the water and picks one up, stretching it a few times to give it some way. But upon one glance at Alec, he knows he needs to clean the wounds once again, the blood refusing to stop.

Magus inspects each cut, one by one, and finds they’re just as ghastly as the day before. The shoulder wound is by far the worst, the fangs having sunk inches into Alec’s flesh. The leg injuries find to be a bit more difficult to examine, since they’re covered by the thick blanket, but Magnus remembers from yesterday that they’re not nearly as bad.

He hesitates before lifting the fabric up just enough to see the smaller wounds. With light fingers, he touches the skin surrounding the deepest one on his thigh, trying to examine it further. Magnus isn’t sure if he imagines it, but he swears he hears a sharp intake of breath from Alec. But he definitely doesn’t imagine Alec’s leg flinching away from the simple touch.

Magnus is about to storm out of the room in the premise that Alec is about to throw another fit, but when he looks up expecting to find Alec scowling at him, he sees two wide eyes. Pink flushes Alec’s cheeks, and he sees his jaw clenching, his eyes looking anywhere but Magnus.

Alec is smart enough. He most likely has come to the realization that Magnus is the only person in the castle who can actually help him—that is without burning him with flames—and he’s trying his best not to yell at being touched by Magnus, who he despises. Or maybe he doesn’t despise him. He did save Magnus from wolves, but he also kicked him out. He’s never going to figure out what’s going through Alec’s brain.

Magnus doesn’t comment on Alec’s reaction and grabs the washcloth to do one last check of the wounds. Alec still avoids any and all eye contact as he dips the cloth to soak it, the sound of water dripping into water the only thing in the room.

Beads trickle down Alec’s arm as Magnus presses the rag against his shoulder, focusing on the row of teeth marks. Little bumps rise on Alec’s skin, which Magnus has only ever experienced when it’s cold out or when he’s caught in an intimate moment. He shakes the thought away and tries to be as gentle as possible, finding himself leaning slightly away when the bumps travel further across his skin.

Magnus decides against cleaning the leg wound again, telling himself it’s because it isn’t too serious of a cut, but really he feels like touching him on his upper thigh is far too much for somebody who hates him. And he doesn’t want the bumps to spread anywhere else.

“Sit up,” he commands, surprised himself to hear that there’s no bite in his voice.

Alec does as he’s told which brings about a radiation of pain through his arm, due to inactivity from sleeping. He flies backwards onto the pillows and squeezes his eyes shut, a quiet whimper escaping his lips.

Magnus feels a pang of guilt and compassion, his thoughts traveling to what both Isabelle and Luke said to him yesterday. He’s been told time after time that Alec isn’t the scary person he’s proven to be, and maybe it’s finally catching up to Magnus.

He doesn’t want to pressure him to move if he’s in that much pain, so he aims to dress the wound with as little movement from Alec as possible—and this means touching Alec even more, which hasn’t proved well.

He begins by bringing the white cloth under Alec’s arm, making that his anchor so he can easily wrap it around without it falling off. He places his fingers under his elbow and lifts slightly, releasing after he’s secured the cloth. When he needs Alec to move his back off the pillows so he can reach the teeth marks that managed to make there, he places one hand under his armpit and tries to offer support.

Magnus can feel Alec’s eyes watching him intently. It’s obvious Alec isn’t someone who talks all that much or likes conversation—or likes Magnus for that matter—with how much he avoids eyes contact. But with Magnus looking at his wounds rather than his face, he can see Alec taking the opportunity.

He finishes wrapping the wound as fast as possible, and ignores the hairs that rise on Alec’s arm when he secures the bandage. The leg proves to be much easier to dress, but Alec shy’s away with every touch.

When Magnus is satisfied with his subpar work, considering he’s not a physician, he dips his hands into the water and rinses them off. It won’t do much seeing as the water is dirty, but it’s enough to get off excess grime clinging to his skin.

“Thank you.” Alec’s soft voice flows into the room.

Magnus has never heard his voice so quiet, so gentle, and for a second he thinks somebody else entered. But he turns to Alec and sees complete kindness in his expression, mixed with some guilt. Their eyes meet, and he searches for any evidence of a scowl, but he finds none.

“You’re welcome.”

Alec looks like he wants to say something else, the hesitation evident on his face, his mouth moving slightly in anticipation, but he refrains. From there, Magnus finds himself wanting to speak, the silence in the room no longer harboring a comfortable surrounding. But again, he’s at a loss for words, a trait that’s completely unlike him.

Alec eventually turns from Magnus, the conversation coming to an abrupt end, and his eyes close. He must’ve not been able to sleep well with his wounds still so fresh. So Magnus leaves the room to let him sleep now that he’s been bandaged properly, suppressing the sudden urge to turn around and look at him.

* * *

 

Alec is still in bed a few days later, only getting up when he has to use the toilet or to test out his strength. The pain has subsided considerably, although making any sudden movements or walking around for too long brings about a bout of torture. Max has been entertaining him, sitting in bed and talking till he falls asleep. Jace, Isabelle, and Simon are constant visitors, spending most of their time in his room. Luke and Clary send their well wishes since they can’t walk up the dozens and dozens of steps that lead to his room.

And Magnus. He comes in every single day, twice a day, to change Alec’s bandages. He never stays for long, only making conversation when Isabelle and Jace are there. And since the last time Alec thanked him for his help, they haven’t spoken.

Magnus walks into the room then, seemingly reading Alec’s mind. It’s empty besides Alec, which always makes Magnus work faster. Knowing this is because his siblings are far more entertaining and easier to talk to makes his heart tug in his chest. Although over the past few days he’s slowly become more comfortable, things remain silent.

He comes around to the side of the bed, offering a small smile as his fingers begin to work on freeing the bandages. Like the days before when they were alone, he works quickly at first, finding a rhythm after a while. So Alec shuts his eyes and pretends to fall asleep, trying to stop the uncomfortable feeling in the room.

“My only love sprung from my only hate.”

Alec’s eyes, which have been closed for a few minutes now, slowly open. He recognizes the line from anywhere, but what surprises him is that it’s Magnus’ soft voice that speaks it. He peeks from underneath his eyelashes, and finds Magnus working with ease, reciting the line on instinct.

“Too early seen unknown, and known too late,” he continues, tying up the bandage on his lower arm. “Prodigious birth of love it is to me, that I—”

“That I must love a loathèd enemy.” Alec finds himself finishing the line, interrupting Magnus, before his brain can yell at him to stop. He realizes his mistake quickly and shuts his mouth, looking away. He’s scared off Magnus before, and pretending to be sleeping and revealing he was awake the whole time is not a good impression.

Magnus stops what he’s doing, his fingers still lightly touching the arm he was working on.

“You know Shakespeare?” he asks, after a couple moments of silence.

Alec didn’t expect to him to respond, or talk to him directly for that matter, so he warily opens his eyes and finds Magnus, who is staring with suppressed surprise on his face.

“We had to read him when we were young.” Alec kicks himself for the boring reply and fully expects Magnus to stop the conversation there, going back to work on his arm.

“Actually,” he says, gaining Alec’s attention again. “ _Roméo et Juliette_  is my favorite play.”

Alec laughs under his breath at this, which is met with confusion on Magnus’ part.

“That’s Isabelle’s favorite play as well, along with Simon’s,” he explains and pauses for a moment, his eyes having to look away from Magnus’ intense stare. He adds quickly, quieter this time, “No wonder they both adore you.”

Magnus smiles, the expression so tender that Alec can’t help but smile in response.

“And yours?” Magnus asks, tilting his head slightly.

“Definitely not _Roméo et Juliette_ ,” he says, finding his voice much calmer than usual.

“Oh, and why is that?” he quips, his hands now fallen from the bandages to his hips in a defiant stance. “Can’t handle the romance? Want to get straight to the fighting?”

Alec, despite being tested by Magnus, laughs. “I just mean there are so many better things to read. I feel that play is somewhat overrated.” He shrugs his shoulders.

Magnus scoffs in response and rolls his eyes, looking at Alec incredulously. “Like what?”

He narrows his eyes at him, an idea popping into his head. No, he doesn’t want to scare Magnus off, but he can’t have this man going off into the world in a few months deeming _Roméo et Juliette_  is his favorite play. He may look like a monster, but he has some kindness and dignity.

Alec shivers under Magnus’ stare, eyes tearing into his. His mind fights back and forth on whether to take Magnus or not, but this is the first conversation they’ve had since he got here and he’s not wasting it.

“Let’s talk a walk.” His voice breaks and embarrassment floods him, but Magnus doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“What?”

“There’s something I’d like to show you.” Alec slowly brings his legs from under the covers until his feet meet the cold floor. He’s walked around a few times without help, but his body already aches in protest. He takes a deep breath through his nose and stands.

When Alec begins to teeter on his long legs, his body not used to the movement, Magnus’ hands are on his waist in a matter of seconds to keep him steady. He registers the feeling, the warmth that emits from Magnus’ fingers, and breathes sharply. He holds his hand up to tell Magnus he’s okay, who lets go after his fingers linger for a few moments.

Slowly but surely, he makes his way over to the door, gripping the handle for support when he finally reaches it. He turns around and his heart sinks when he sees that Magnus hasn’t moved from his spot next to the bed. His feet remain planted, but his eyes are on Alec, befuddled.

“Come on,” he reassures. “It’ll be worth it.”

Magnus has a moment of hesitation, but gives in to Alec’s words. And Alec can’t help but stare as he walks over, noticing the grace in every movement he makes. He’s deliberate in each step, gliding so easily across the room like a leaf gently floating through the sky.

When he reaches Alec, he gestures with his hand to the door.

“Lead the way.”

The walk there is quiet, and fear eats away at Alec’s stomach. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. This has always been the space Alec went to relax, to lose himself. Sure, he has other areas around the castle that bring him the same kind of composure—the benches sitting in the midst of vines and snow, the seats next to the fireplace where Isabelle, Jace, and him used to goof around and exchange stories on cold winter nights—but this is the only place Alec has ever deemed his.

And he doesn’t want to scare Magnus by being too intense. In fact, that’s the last thing he wants. He fears Magnus will think this is all very sudden, too sudden, and that Alec is incapable of being kind—which is incredibly selfish for Alec to think because the way Magnus feels about him is nobody else’s fault but his own. He’s the one who yelled at him, the one he lost his temper with, and he can’t fault Magnus for that.

But Alec, who overthinks every detail in the world, notices that Magnus isn’t walking behind or in front of him. With his injuries, Alec has to walk at a pace that even a child crawling could pass, and he knows with how strong Magnus is he could easily be a mile ahead. Yet here is walking in line with him, his hands clasped behind his back. And when Alec has to stop for a few moments and catch his breath, he remains at his side and waits.

They weave their way through the castle, and when they finally reach the double doors, his fingers stay stationary on the handles. From the corner of his eyes he looks to Magnus, who is patiently staring at Alec, waiting for the room he walked at an elderly pace for to appear. Alec gains enough courage, ignores the pain in his shoulder, and pushes the doors open.

Next to him, he hears a gasp.

The library is several stories tall, bookcases lining almost every inch. And where there are no books, windows cover the wall space, giving a perfect view to the gardens outside. Several chandeliers scatter across the ceiling, some hanging lower than others. The ladders leading up to the next tier of books lays next to the open doors that show a glimpse into the other portion of the library.

Alec spent countless days of his childhood here, so he’s never truly seen the library as anything special. But when he turns to Magnus and sees his hands covering his mouth in surprise, his eyes darting around the room not knowing what to focus on, he takes a moment to truly see it all like it’s the first time.

Magnus then unexpectedly looks up to him, catching Alec staring. He tries to tone down the blush that creeps to his cheeks, and clears his throat.

“There’s a few things in here you could start with,” he says, his voice far less confident than normal, and gestures to the room.

Magnus walks further in, spinning around slowly, taking in every bookshelf hungrily. His eyes crinkle at the corners, a smile hidden by his palms. Alec wishes he would remove his hands so he can see.

“It’s—” Magnus begins, taking a shaky breath in and dropping his hands. “It’s wonderful.”

Alec can finally see the warm smile on his face, bright enough to light up the room and challenge the sun pouring in. It’s infectious, and he finds himself looking around the room again, taking in every detail that he’s managed to overlook over the years. Something about Magnus discovering this library, a room Alec always loved but took for granted,  makes him find beauty in it he hasn’t seen before.

“Yes. I suppose it is.” Magnus nods, eyeing Alec, his face beatific.  

When he really thinks about it, Alec hasn’t found peace in the library for years. In fact, he hasn’t entered this room since the curse began. His mind is just replaying the good times he had here, when all was simple and his family was still together as one. He’s been scared because he doesn’t want to ruin the good memories he’s had here. But he’s never felt the joy Magnus is feeling right now.

He can’t have his old life back, so that’s why he finds himself saying, “If you like it so much, then it’s yours.”

Magnus mouths drops open slightly, with complete overwhelming surprise. He holds his breath for a moment, and his eyes tell it all.

“Really?” his voice nearly breaks.

Alec smiles lightly and nods. “I haven’t been in here since the…” his voice trails off, memories far too painful bubbling. “I’ve read them all anyway,” he hurriedly says, covering up his stuttering. “Not a lot to do out here as a child.”

“Some of these are very advanced texts,” Magnus says, eyeing up the bookcase closest to him, looking impressed. “You read these as a child?”

“Yes,” he begins, shrugging his shoulders. “Doesn’t mean I understood most of them. After all, I don’t speak Greek.”

Magnus laughs at this, a noise Alec could get used to hearing.

“Are you making jokes with me now?” he asks, no bite in his voice. He looks at Alec in almost disbelief, shaking his head slightly, and he bites his lip, focus moving back to the binds.

Alec could watch him discovering each book all day, but his shoulder and leg aren’t on the same page. They’ve been howling at him to lie down in bed since he stood up, and it’s not long until he collapses back onto the ground.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he says, scratching at his neck. Not at his scar, but at his neck. Alec has never gone a few hours without the urge to claw at the scar.

When he reaches the door, he turns around one last time to see Magnus, who already has his eyes on him.

“Thank you,” he says at almost a whisper.

Alec cheeks heat up again. “You’re welcome.”

As he’s leaving the room, he hears gasps and giggles of excitement from Magnus. Something in him makes him pause for a moment, the sound soothing in his ears. But he gains enough will power to shut the doors, laughing fondly to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed my babes!!! Come talk to me at "doddario" !! xxxxx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debates and discussions should always remain civil. Teasing. Close touches. Crumbling time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God y'all, its been months since I last updated and I'm so so so sorry about that. I was really discouraged from writing for a while and wasn't feeling any sort of inspiration, then I got job, then classes started, and then I got an internship so. Needless to say, I've been the busiest I've ever been in my entire life. Free time doesn't come easy. BUT, the gods blessed me with a few open nights, so here we are!! 
> 
> (I mean, I haven't updated in so long that the SH season is literally over now ohmygod. But how incredible was it lets be real like damn S2B was completely flawless and that Malec at the end saved my dying ass. I love those kids so much.)
> 
> OKAY SO as per usual, here are some trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Child abuse mentions/descriptions  
> \- Suicidal thoughts/suicide mentions  
> \- Blood descriptions
> 
> Thank you so much if you're still actually reading, and I hope it was maybe worth the wait? Maybe? We've got some cute ass moments ahead and some nice angst, so enjoy my angels! xxx
> 
> (PS: I'm well aware when this story is set, but I gotta be honest. I have no clue how people spoke back then. So if sounds too modern for you, I'm sorry, but I'm no specialist in 18th century language.)

The bind crackles as it bends, years of inactivity taking a toll on the leather. While the library is kept in almost pristine condition, the books can’t be taken out one by one to be cleared of dust, so a thin layer falls to the ground as it’s moved from its once permanent spot.

Light pouring in from the windows warms Magnus’ back, and he revels in his newfound comfort. It’d only been a few days since he was gifted the library, along with every book in it, but he’s already spent ample time reading. He’s powered through several stories already, some being poetry collections and others being plays—most being Shakespeare because even if Alec doesn’t approve of his reading taste, he’s allowed to indulge himself.

Magnus hasn’t actually seen or talked to Alec since he was left with the library. It’s not that he’s been avoiding him, per say, but Magnus has no clue how to act. He hasn’t exactly made it easy to understand who he is and why he behaves the way he does, and every interaction has only furthered his confusion.

At least several times a day, between reading texts cover to cover, he lays out his feelings on a time spectrum. He hated Alec for capturing his mother. He hated Alec for capturing him. He hated him more for yelling at him. But now he’s faced with the facts: Alec saved his life when he didn’t need to and gifted him a library filled with an absurd amount of books that can’t be finished in one lifetime.

And Magnus knows it’s not all in his mind. With the very limited interactions they’ve had as of yet, Alec has been kinder. And while he’s trying to figure the man out, he doesn’t want to trust him; he doesn’t want to do more than tolerate him. So, Magnus makes that his goal. Tolerate Alec enough to live with him. Yes, that’s exactly what he’ll do.

“Magnus? Are you listening to us?”

He was so completely absorbed in his own thoughts, Magnus forgot both Isabelle and Clary were in the library with him, sitting mere inches away.

After the residents of the castle got word that Magnus spent most of his time in the library, they’ve all been visiting periodically. And he can’t say he’s angry about it. Everybody is incredibly kind and they all, at one point or another, have caused Magnus to double over in laughter. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and turning towards them, he says, “Sorry, dear. The thrill of looking at all these books is still there.”

“I can tell,” Isabelle laughs. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now. But now that you’ve been brought back to earth, tell us what else you did back in your village.”

When the village was first brought up, Magnus froze and was garnered unresponsive for a few minutes. Of course, he knows that’s his old life and he’s accepted that over the past few weeks, but it was hard to talk about in the beginning. Isabelle visibly blanched when she thought she had overstepped her boundaries, but Magnus has become more and more comfortable talking about what he now must consider his past. If he’s going to move on and be at peace, he’s allowed to speak and reminisce about his old life once in a while.

“I don’t know if either of you have lived outside of this castle, but tiny villages don’t have much to do,” he says with a shrug. “Mostly just took care of our animals, tended to our garden patch, read.”

“Oh come on, Magnus. I feel you’re holding out on us,” Clary jokes. “What were the people like?”

“Boring, slightly ignorant—you know, the usual.”

“You never found anyone who caught your interest?”

Isabelle sends a stern look Clary’s way, shaking her head.

“What?” Clary says, defensive. “I’m only curious.”

“If you’re asking if I ever dated anybody,” Magnus says, ignoring the private conversation between them, “no, I didn’t.”

Clary barks out a laugh. “Magnus, you’re not fooling anybody. You’re trying to tell me you’re walking around looking like that and you never dated anybody?”

“If that was a compliment, then thank you,” he jests, playfully bowing.

“There were absolutely no men good enough for you?”

“Or women,” Isabelle adds, wiggling her eyebrows.

Magnus tries to not look uncomfortable with the question. He can recall a few people who were able to catch his attention, but since Camille played with his heart and left him in the dust, he hasn’t been interested in anyone since; not seriously anyway. “Sure, there were a few people over the years, but nothing was ever serious. As I said before, ignorance spreads like a disease in contained areas.”

Clary and Isabelle hum.

“So,” Isabelle begins slowly, “you’re not with anybody currently?”

“Not currently, no.”

“Interesting,” she says under her breath.

Magnus narrows his eyes at the tea pot. “And what does that mean?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.”

“So what about you, Isabelle? Anybody special in your life?” Magnus retorts.

“Magnus, I’m a tea pot. What do you think?”

Within seconds they’re all laughing, Magnus’ chest feeling light, like the weight since he arrived is finally beginning to peel away at the edges.

Magnus must’ve been too distracted by Isabelle’s self-deprecation because he completely missed the door opening and Isabelle’s own laughter dying down. It’s still bubbling in his chest when he turns around to see Alec standing in the doorway.

An emotion Magnus can’t quite figure out flashes across the man’s face. They catch eyes for a few moments, Magnus nodding at his arrival. It was only a matter of days before he had to see Alec again. The situation was completely inevitable, yet Magnus is struck with the unfamiliar feeling of not knowing how to act.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he says, tearing his eyes away from Magnus. “I need to talk to Isabelle.”

From across the room, Magnus watches Alec. His hands, which are normally clasped behind his back in a soldier stance, rest at his sides. On his right hand, his thumb and forefinger rub together, his arm slightly shaking. Magnus wonders if he’s still in pain, since he hasn’t been out of bed rest for long.

“Alec, you can talk to me in here. No need to be so serious all the time,” she chuckles, her voice still light from her laughing fit.

“I’m sorry, um, I—” Alec stutters out, his eyes landing anywhere but on Magnus.

If Alec wasn’t stoic all the time, Magnus would have never noticed. But Alec’s hand that was oddly at his side in the first place is now raised to his neck, his nails digging into his skin.

It takes no time for Isabelle to get across the room, whispering something to Alec as she reaches him. The hand that was on his neck comes down, although his fingers are still visibly shaking. They both exit the room, Isabelle speaking to Alec in a hushed tone.

The door doesn’t close completely behind them, their conversation kept quiet behind the wood. Clary walks into the second section of the library, distracted by a painting on the farthest wall. Magnus hears her talking, making quiet comments to herself about the strokes and colors. He turns his attention back to his book, having to reread the same paragraph over and over, retaining none of it.

When the creak of the door enters his ears, he looks up and sees Isabelle on the floor in the middle of the frame, reaching no more than a few inches into the air, with Alec behind her, saying quiet last words. They speak for another moment, and then Isabelle turns to Magnus.

“It seems that I have some other business to attend to,” she explains. “But I know you won’t miss me, with all these books surrounding you.”

“You know me so well, dear,” he says, Isabelle winking back.

He looks up from her and his eyes meet Alec’s. On instinct he offers a smile, and Alec fails to hide his own in response. From across the room, Magnus notices the blush that emerges on his cheeks, and he can’t suppress the giggle that bubbles. And in this light, with the sun now shining through the mosaic windows, rainbows painting the room, Magnus can’t help but notice how kind and soft he looks.

No. Nope. No way. This isn’t going to happen. Magnus is not going to like Alec. Toleration is key.

* * *

 

Alec sighs into his soup as he reaches a crucial part of the latest book he’s tucking into. The main character is, of course, not realizing that miscommunication is taking place and, like clockwork, is now fighting with their love interest. Nothing gets under Alec’s skin like characters so obviously not listening to the facts of a situation and acting on pure impulse. Although he can’t exactly reprimand them, since he’s done that on a handful of occasions. Or more than a handful.

“Thank you so much, but you don’t need to escort me to dinner every night.” The voice delicately enters the room, and Alec’s eyes immediately leave the book they were once glued to. “Unbeknownst to all of you, I can make it to the dining hall without getting lost. It was one time!”

Magnus is smiling brightly talking to the Isabelle, the site causing Alec to lose any and all semblance of seriousness. They’re discussing the time Magnus lost his way to the hall and somehow ended up outside, and Alec is so enthralled by the way Magnus looks when he laughs that he doesn’t see that Isabelle has left the room and Magnus is now staring at Alec, who is gawking right back at him. He coughs under his breath and flits his eyes back to his book.

They haven’t talked since the library, and for good reason. Alec doesn’t know what to say to him, nor does he know how to talk to him. It was easy when they were talking about Magnus’ debatable taste in books, but they are only so many ways to tell Magnus that _Roméo et Juliette_ isn’t the height of literature.

Alec hears a chair moving across the marble, the sound distant. He looks through his eyelashes above the top of his book that he’s moved strategically in front of his face. Magnus is now sitting in the chair as far as possible from Alec, on the opposite end of the ridiculously long dining table.

He tries to brush away the disappointed feeling, because what did he expect? That because he and Magnus had a single conversation days ago about Shakespeare that Magnus would now trust him fully and would want to talk to him? That they’d suddenly fall in love?

Alec rereads the paragraph he’s on over and over as he hears Magnus give thanks to the soup being served in front of him. He takes notice of the lightness in his voice, the way he says thank you to everybody possible.

The soup in front of him hasn’t been touched in a number of minutes because he is so focused on not focusing on Magnus and trying desperately to focus on his book. He’s failing, of course, so the soup is lukewarm at best.

Over his not-so-subtle book placement, he can see Magnus mimicking his own stance as he has a book perched in front of his face, although he seems enthralled by the pages. He doesn’t want to interrupt him reading, but the sudden need to speak to him, to get over this threshold of their second real conversation, overwhelms his being.

“So,” he blurts out, all too loud for them being in the same room. Magnus puts his book down just enough to look at Alec, who sighs inwardly at his uncomfortable attempt of breaking the silence. Magnus doesn’t look excited or upset at Alec trying to speak to him, so he takes this as encouragement to continue. “What book are you—”

“Alec!”

An extremely loud voice, all too loud for how tiny he is, interrupts his feeble excuse of conversation.

Max bounds inside, his form almost too small to notice against the white marble. He’s bouncing towards Alec, the sound filling the silent hall. Before he approaches his brother, who he seems very eager to speak to, he stops next to Magnus.

“Hi, Magnus! How’s dinner?” he pants, slightly out of breath, his words slurring together.

“Hello, Max. Dinner is rather delicious, thank you for asking. And how has your day been?” Magnus’ full attention is now on Alec’s younger brother, his book lying on the table and his body completely turned to him.

Max, being rather young and still learning social etiquette, walks away from Magnus and towards Alec while answering, “It’s been good!” he calls out. He giggles at the boy and picks up his book again.

Alec’s youngest brother hops up onto the table in front of him, his cheeks tinged pink with his exertion. He smiles at him and places his book face down on the cloth.

“And how can I help you today?” Alec asks, all too aware that Magnus can hear everything he says, from his stutters to his voice breaking.

“I haven’t seen you in so long!” Max almost yells, never aware of his voice level.

Alec huffs and rolls his eyes. “I saw you this morning Max, remember? When you switched the time on Simon and ran away when he woke up?”

Max puts on a confused expression and tilts his head, trying to suppress a laugh.

“You have to admit it was funny seeing Simon freak out thinking it was past lunchtime.”

Alec allows himself to chuckle at his younger brother and the memory from this morning. From across the table, Alec hears Magnus laughing as well, and really, he’s so enthralled by him that he forgets what they’re laughing about for a moment.

“Okay, it was a little funny,” he shakes his head, trying to sober himself. “But don’t do it again.”

“Sounds good,” Max says, and then completely flips the conversation. “Now, tell me how you got those scars.”

Alec furrows his brow at Max, his hand itching for his neck, as it does often. “I—I thought both Isabelle and I told you not to keep asking about it?” He stumbles over a few of his words and breathes deeply.

“Why can’t you just tell me? I promise I’ll keep it a secret!” he whines, his eyes widening in an attempt to win Alec over.

He sighs deeply and grabs the bridge of his nose, his brother having asked him the same question repeatedly since he got back. But both Isabelle and he discussed that it would be better to not expose Max to the whole, horrible truth. There’s no way at such a young age Max would understand the complexity of the situation they’re in.

When Alec opens his eyes again, he finds both Magnus and Max staring at him, waiting for an answer. Max looking for a thrilling tale of heroism and treachery, and Magnus wanting the truth for questions that Alec can’t answer himself.

“Alright,” he gives in. “But you can’t interrupt. I know you have no self-control and have to comment every few sentences.”

Max’s face lights up, and he bounces up and down, the cutlery next to him clinking together. “You’re really going to tell me? I didn’t know that would actually work!”

Alec takes a deep breath and begins. “It was storming, as it always is here, and—”

“Why were you outside?”

Alec glares at him, although admittedly, he expected Max to interrupt even sooner than that. “Do you want the story or not?”

Max squeezes his lips shut into a tight line, awaiting the rest of the story.

“As I was saying, it was storming. It was freezing outside and the snow made it extremely difficult to see. Magnus had decided to take his horse out,” Alec informs, slightly bending the truth. He knows with the mention of his name Magnus’ eyes are definitely trained on him, and Alec shifts in his seat under the intense stare of two people.

“Since Magnus isn’t from here, he doesn’t know about the dangers of going out in a snowstorm. So when Isabelle informed me that he went out for a walk, I knew I had to make sure he was safe. When I finally found him, he was surrounded by wolves.” Max takes a sharp inhale of breath, absolutely engrossed by the story. “He was fighting them with his bare hands and the younger wolves knew they stood no chance against him, so they sent their alpha. I saw Magnus fighting it off for what seemed like hours, but wolves are wolves. It was about to pounce for him, and the only thing I could think to do was push it out of the way.

“This worked temporarily, but they attacked again. I tried getting them off me, I really did, but some of them were stronger,” Alec admits, pointing to his shoulder and back. The scars are now hidden under the layers of his clothes, but they still look fresh. He pauses in his story, somewhat for dramatic effect, and continues on. “That was until Magnus jumped in and saved me. I was on the ground, in quite a bit of pain, and he was able to get me onto his horse while keeping the wolves away, and brought me back to the castle all by himself.”

Alec kept his eyes trained on Max throughout the story, knowing looking at Magnus would all but make him too nervous to continue speaking.

“Wow,” Max whispers under his breath. “He’s a hero.”

“Yeah,” Alec says breathlessly.

He looks up at Magnus. He sits there, a humble grin on his face and tilts his head slightly at Alec, barely enough for him to notice. His face is now a deep shade of pink, but he doesn’t try to conceal it.

Max interrupts their staring, now looking to his hero.

“So you fought off wolves, rescued my brother, and you didn’t get hurt at all? You’re way cooler than any of my family.”

Magnus shakes his head fondly at Alec again and laughs at the young boy.

* * *

 

For once, poetry actually keeps Magnus interested. He’s never been the biggest fan of it, no matter how eloquent or incredible the poet is. It never seems to grab Magnus’ attention fully.

“ _How can the bird that is born for joy_ ,” Magnus recites to himself, finding it easier to understand the lines when read aloud, “ _sit in a cage and sing_.”

He looks around the garden that he’s been wandering around now for hours, and finds himself standing on a bridge that overlooks a frozen pond. Although the greenery and the flowers are hidden away in the cold, and no life can live in the chill of the water, it’s a gorgeous site. Magnus finds peace in this stillness, taking in the crisp air and allowing it to find its way through the weaves of his clothing.

“ _How can a child when fears annoy, but droops his tender wing, and forget his youthful spring._ ”

“Which poet is that?”

Magnus jumps out of his skin at the sudden voice, his fingers losing grip on the book. It lands with a thud on the cobblestone and he bends down to grab it, caring more about the condition of the book than the person who caused him to drop it. But as his hand touches the bind, another hand grabs for it as well. He looks up to find the owner of the voice and his eyes meet hazel.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you. I shouldn’t have just snuck up on you without making my presence known,” Alec stammers, grabbing the book that still sits on the ground. He pushes it hastily towards Magnus, avoiding eye contact.

Magnus wraps his hand around the bind again, his fingertips brushing slightly against Alec’s. He ignores how quickly Alec pulls his hand away.

“It’s William Blake,” Magnus says, waving the front of the book at Alec.

“Ah, I see. And how do you like him?”

Magnus narrows his eyes. “Is this another one of your schemes so you can criticize my taste in literature?”

Alec laughs under his breath, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That wasn’t my intention,” he says honestly, “but if you say you dislike William Blake, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to respect you.”

“For your information, I do happen to like him. He isn’t too flowery with his descriptions, and he’s able to get his point across without droning on and on.”

He hums in agreement. “Have you reached his poem _The Chimney Sweeper_ yet? That’s one of my favorites of his.”

“No, but I believe it’s coming up. I’ll have to give you my correct opinion when I get to it.”

Alec scoffs and shakes his head, turning towards the pond in front of them.

A silence falls over the bridge, but it’s not uncomfortable. They remain standing there, Magnus neither reading the poem in front of him nor looking at Alec.

“So why did you lie to Max?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

It’s been eating away at him. The way Alec spoke of him, how he painted Magnus as the hero, how he twisted the story in Magnus’ favor—it was all completely false.

Alec’s expression falls into a frown. “Pardon?”

“I was anything but a hero that night,” Magnus utters with no self-pity. “I mean, you said it yourself. It was my fault I was attacked by wolves; it was my fault you were ever in harm’s way.”

Alec shuts his eyes, and Magnus can see his jaw grinding. He looks like he’s in pain and is seconds from walking away.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Didn’t mean what?” he retorts, wincing at his abrasiveness.

The man shakes his head and finally looks at Magnus, sorrow in his eyes.  “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”

Magnus is taken aback by the seriousness in his voice, and looks down at the book balancing in his hands, unable to handle his stare.

“And,” Alec begins again, pausing for a few moments to collect his thoughts. “I didn’t lie to Max. You did save me.”

Warmth blooms in his chest despite the snow falling at his feet. He smiles to himself at the sincerity in Alec’s voice. It registers in Magnus’ mind, which is now swirling with Alec, the complete change in his attitude, his composure.

Magnus can’t help but still be utterly confused by him. The list of their interactions pile up, and now the kind, nice Alec is outweighing the yelling, harsh Alec. Before, it was so easy to hate him because he gave absolutely no reason not to. Now what’s he supposed to feel?

The silence between them is no longer comfortable, the air thickening.

“Well, let me get back to William Blake,” Magnus says. “After all, you are the person who critiqued by pristine taste in reading, Alexander.”

Alec laughs at this and a heat rises to the apples of his cheeks, although it’s somewhat obscured by the scar running across his skin.

With every occasion he and Alec have come face to face long enough to pick out facial details, Magnus never really wonders where Alec got the scars from. In the beginning, he didn’t want to know anything more than Alec’s whereabouts so he could prevent running into him. But now, as Magnus looks at the scar running across his cheek, the scar creating a divide on the arch of his right brow, the scar causing a dent in his lips—where could they have come from?

Magnus erases the curiosity from his mind and sticks to focusing on the blush blooming on his face.

“I wouldn’t have to critique your taste if you read good—“ He stops mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. “How did you know my name is Alexander?”

Magnus shrugs, he himself not even noticing the change. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

Alec considers this for a moment, his brows still drawn together. He nods at Magnus, looking like he’s holding something back, but walks away without another word.

Alec rounds the end of the bridge, looking back for a beat and avoiding eye contact, and Magnus can see that he has a small smile adorning his face. He finds his lips rising back, swinging the book mindlessly between his hands.

Okay. So maybe Alec isn’t as bad as Magnus once thought. And maybe Magnus doesn’t hate him as he once did. A lot can change in the matter of a few weeks, especially when both people are almost ripped to shreds by wolves.

But, as he’s been debating in his head for days now, even with Alec acting so different than the first time they met, how can he trust that this is the real Alec? If he can flip flop that much in his personality, is there any way Magnus can come to ignore who he was in the beginning and believe that he’s completely changed?

Whether or not Alec acted rude and brash in the beginning, he’s not behaving that way now. Maybe Magnus should forget about what happened because the past is history. He of all people knows that one shouldn't be judged by their past. 

And can he even say anymore that Alec is holding him captive? Would that be fair? Alec did tell him to leave—or maybe a more accurate word is yell—but he hasn’t said that Magnus’ forever will be here held out here anymore. Magnus didn’t need to help him back to the castle, so why does he find it so hard to think about leaving? Why does seeing Alec smile bring mysterious heat to his chest?

* * *

 

The dinner table is still silent, like it is every night. Separated by the long piece of furniture, which is far too big, since the only person in the entire castle who needs to sit in a seat is Alec, Magnus and Alec eat without a conversation flowing between them—not that conversation ever flows freely anyway.

He finds himself looking up to Magnus every few seconds, who’s sitting at least ten chairs away. Alec can’t help himself, especially when the book he’s reading is far from piquing his interest. Not to mention that every minute or so of stolen glances, Magnus also happens to be looking up at him. There’s a few moments where they pretend they don’t catch the other staring, and then the cycle repeats.

At this point, eating dinner together, or rather in the same room at the same time, has become their normal. Although Magnus always tends to come in a few minutes later, they end up finishing around the same time, a nod and a smile exchanged as goodbyes. But God, if Alec sits in silence for another day longer, his heart and head won’t be able to take it.

“I reread some of _Roméo et Juliette_ last night,” he blurts, proud of the steadiness in his voice, even if his insides are twisting at the thought of speaking to Magnus.

Magnus’ eye light up at the mention, but then he cocks his head and crosses his arms. “And?”

Alec stitches his brows together, prompting Magnus to continue.

“And are you going to spend the next twenty minutes saying how people take it the wrong way, how it’s obviously not a love story, how it's terrible, how it’s praise in the community isn’t deserved?”

Alec holds up his hands in mercy. “Okay, okay, okay, I’ll never insult your taste in books again.” Magnus’ face softens and he nods his head, happy he’s got his way. “And I’ll have you know, I rather enjoyed the section I read.”

Magnus chuckles loudly, more in a mocking tone, and places the book he was holding onto the table. Now the only thing separating them is the numerous chairs, and even those seem to be shrinking by the second.

“I knew you’d come around eventually. Now it’s time for you to grovel at my feet and beg forgiveness,” he smirks, gesturing to the floor next to him.

The shift in tone, the way Magnus teases him—everything about this interaction is different. He seems confident in himself, in his words, and his manner is more inviting. Is this Magnus being flirty? Alec wants to brush off this change, probably all of it created in his head, but he can’t help the automatic flip of his stomach.

The air lifts, and a stream of light from the open doorway trickles in. It gleams off the chandelier that hangs above them, once dull with dust and misuse, now shining. Falling behind Magnus, a halo surrounds his shoulders, enveloping him in warmth.

Alec takes a moment for his brain, his eyes, and his lungs to catch up with one another. With his breath caught in his throat and the ability to speak completely gone from his system, he rolls his eyes and tries to not overthink this.

“Ah, not too fast,” he says, trying to keep his voice at the same playful level as Magnus’. “I do have a few questions here, a few criticisms there.”

Magnus droops dramatically in his chair and throws his hand up to his forehead, a loud sigh bouncing around the hall.

“It was all too good to be true. Here I was thinking that Alexander wouldn’t argue with me on the greatest story of our time.”

As if his insides weren’t churning before, with the sound of his full name leaving Magnus’ lips, a shiver runs down his arms. He never thought that he’d have to hear that name ever again, let alone hear it without feeling fearful. It’d always brought up dark memories of his father cornering him, or his father bringing up his hand before a swing. And it always, always caused his skin to itch, his throat the target.

But this is different. Everything with Magnus is different.

“My biggest dilemma with the story,” he begins, ignoring Magnus’ dramatic sigh of protest, “is the fact that people label it a love story. What’s romantic about two kids thinking they love each other, and then killing themselves? How can one even deem that romantic?”

Magnus straightens up in his chair and places his hands folded on the table, ready for a debate.

“What makes you think I believe it’s a love story?”

“I didn’t say you, I said ‘people.’ But why else would you enjoy it so much? Without the romantic aspect, it’s a simple story about two feuding families. I can give you dozens of stories about that, a number of them from Shakespeare himself.”

“I too, don’t think that two teenagers can fall in love instantly. But I do think the story is about people, especially young people, making quick decisions that end badly. I also think it’s a story about the fatalities that silly feuds between adults can lead to. While we can easily blame Roméo and we can easily blame Juliette, we can’t ignore the core of the problem: the families.”

Alec nods in agreement, the mere fact of parents being brought into the conversation making his skin crawl.

“I see where you’re coming from, but most of the blame is on the kids. They met once, kissed once, and then professed their undying love for each other. I understand the parents created this unstable environment and only furthered their rebellious actions, but there comes a time where you must stop blaming a person’s surroundings. She definitely didn’t have to stab herself, but here we are.”

“And the Friar didn’t have to give Juliette that potion, did he? But that’s what makes this story so interesting. No character is free from criticism, and no matter they be a child or adult, they’ll make mistakes—” Magnus pauses midsentence, standing up from his chair, and sliding it behind him. The noise of wood against marble is harsh on the ears, but Alec hardly notices at all.

And he hardly notices anything else Magnus says as he makes his way over to Alec, bypassing all the chairs between them and sitting directly next to him. He isn’t sure why Magnus moves, but the closeness only intensifies what Alec is feeling.

Suddenly the room doesn’t feel light anymore, and Alec finds air to be scarce. Magnus finishes talking, but Alec can’t recall anything he said. He blinks rapidly, racking his brain for a comment, a question, a critique—anything. Thankfully, Magnus continues the conversation, saving Alec from himself.

“You simply can’t blame the children, since how a child acts is primarily from their upbringing. A lot of the mistakes made throughout the story are from the adults, whether it’s intentional or not.”

Alec gains a steadiness in his breath now and replies, “Agree to disagree.”

“To me, it just seems like somebody doesn’t like the romance aspect of the storyline. I don’t think it’s a love story either, it’s far from it, but young love is strong, Alexander.”

He of course has never experienced romantic love in his lifetime, and he fully accepts that he never will. He was never able to have young love because he was forbidden to leave the castle on his own, and life in solitude doesn’t lead to romantic adventures. Not to mention he believed he was in love with Jace for a long time because he had nobody else to project his feelings onto, which led to years and years of guilt.

But Magnus doesn’t need to know any of that.

When he looks back up, he can’t help but study every detail of his face. The curve of his cheek, his eyes shining, waiting for Alec to answer. He takes one more moment to look at the light freckles on his nose, most likely from being out in the sun. The softness of his skin, free from imperfections and glowing under the sunlight.

Magnus laughs under his breath, catching Alec staring. In this proximity, it would’ve been nearly impossible for Magnus to not have noticed.

Alec feels a blush reforming on his cheeks, but once again, Magnus saves him from embarrassment and continues the conversation, not mentioning the blatant gawking.

“I’m going to need to start giving you literature advice, since you’ve been so vocal about helping me.”

“You admit I’m helping you? Glad we’re on the same page now,” Alec teases.

Magnus scoffs. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Alexander.”

Alec revels in the crinkles at the corner of Magnus’ eyes.

“I’m not full of myself,” Alec retorts, leaning back in his seat and clasping his hands behind his head. “I’m just a really good teacher.”

Now a familiar sight to Alec, Magnus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. You keep believing that.”

“ _The man doth protest too much, methinks_ ,” Alec recites, the line surfacing in his mind.

“Did you just recite a line from _Hamlet_ at me?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Of course you enjoy _Hamlet_. All about fighting, seizing thrones, marrying widows.”

“I can’t help my impeccable taste in literature, Magnus.”

Alec knows he’s not imagining the pause in time they share together. He’s sure that he’s never said Magnus’ name directly to him, and the softness he feels as it hovers off his lips isn’t lost on him. The laughter that grew between them now dies down as their eyes lock for a beat, and Alec knows that he sees Magnus take a sharp breath.

Sounds of boisterous laughter break whatever trance they’re in, but it takes a few moments for their eyes to tear away. Both don’t say anything until the echoes erupt again from a nearby room, and Alec can’t stand sitting in silence anymore.

“A few weeks ago, they were laughing over Simon falling down the stairs, so we should probably go supervise before they hurt themselves.” He tries, but fails, at covering the heaviness in his voice. But Magnus isn’t doing any better, and it takes him a minute to laugh along with Alec.

They exit the dining hall, Magnus trailing slightly behind, and follow the sounds of broken words and shallow breaths as people try to catch their breath from their fits of laughter.

Magnus and Alec walk into the ballroom, where it seems everybody in the castle is gathering. They stand silently in the entryway, Isabelle the only one realizing their presence.

“A-Al…Mag…” She tries speaking between her giggles, but their names come out in short syllables.

“It’s not that funny Isabelle,” Jace says sternly from where he sits next to Simon, who lets out one giggle and covers his mouth too late. “Not you too, Simon! You traitor!”

“What did I miss?” Alec asks, eyes fluttering over the group.

Luke and Clary are talking quietly amongst themselves, although Clary has a pink tinge in her cheeks from laughing. Simon now can’t contain it and is laughing at the same capacity as Isabelle.

“Ja...Jace...he—and then he—” Isabelle cackles.

“I was walking in here and Isabelle was hiding behind the door and she scared me. Really not that hilarious,” he sneers, glaring at his sister.

“You jumped so high you burnt the ceiling!” Simon laughs, pointing up to the ash marks now present above them.

“Why am I always the one getting scared! Why does nobody scare Alec?” Jace grumbles, crossing his arms like a defiant child.

“Nobody can scare me, Jace. It’s fact in this household.”

Next to him, Magnus whispers, “We’ll see about that.”

Alec turns to him now, a smirk forming on his lips. “Try me.”

“Or how about Magnus? Let’s scare Magnus!” Jace yells, although Alec’s attention is purely on the playful look Magnus has spread across his face.

“But why would we want to scare Magnus? He’s so sweet!” Clary bubbles, jumping in to protect her newly found friend.

“Jace,” Isabelle says, finally catching her breath. “Accept that you’ll be scared at least once a week in this house, and move on.”

He slumps in his place, where Simon now crouches near him and whispers something, immediately bringing a smile back.

“Alec, since this is the first time you've been down here in weeks, why don’t you play something for us?” Isabelle asks, peering up at her brother.

Alec stops in his place, the smile that was present from watching his family bicker and laugh with one another now disappearing. He hasn’t played in years except to try and teach Simon how to play, let alone perform in front of everybody close to him. And Magnus. Magnus is there and Alec is very aware of that fact.

“Isabelle,” he warns.

“Yes, please, Alec!” Clary pleads. “Not that I don’t love your playing, Father, but I’d love to hear that one piece you used to play.”

“This is all a ploy to tell me she’s tired of me playing, I know it,” Luke teases.

“Come on, Alec!” Isabelle repeats, creeping closer.

“Yes, why don’t you grace us with a song, Alexander?” Magnus says from next to him. The entire room goes still.

Not one person moves, nobody makes a sound. It takes Alec a moment to realize what they’re all reacting to. Nobody has used his full name in years. His name hasn’t left any of their lips since the curse fell upon them and even before that fateful day, every time their parents used his name, distaste lacing their already venomous voices, Alec would be sent into a panic, his neck being his closest victim.

But when Magnus speaks it, when it leaves his lips, Alec welcomes it.

“Fine, but I’m only playing the lullaby,” he mumbles, shifting uncomfortably from where he stands, trying to get people’s eyes off him. He can tell they’re all watching him closely, waiting for his fingers to begin rubbing together, but instead he goes to the older piano next to Luke, and places his fingers lightly on the ivories.

From years and years of not playing, Alec isn’t sure he’ll remember the lullaby. He used to play it when Isabelle couldn’t sleep, or when his parents weren’t home. Luke would bring them all into the ballroom and teach them pieces, some rather simple and others more complex. And whenever any of them would pick up on a melody or grasp a concept quickly, the proudness would radiate from him.

He remembers an especially vivid memory of Luke and him, a night after his parents had left for a few weeks trip. Prior to their departure, Alec’s father made sure Alec understood his duties while he was gone.

Luke found him in the corner of his bedroom, scratching desperately at his neck, trying to ground himself to anything he could. He picked Alec up after the sound of horses carrying a carriage left their ears, and brought him down to the ballroom, all the way holding Alec’s arms at his side. He could see Alec began to break the skin, beads of red forming, the week being particularly bad for him.

When they reached the wide, open room, Luke closed the doors lightly, and sat Alec down next to him on the stool in front of the piano. Alec’s hands could barely reach the keys at the time, but that didn’t matter. Because the second Luke set him down, his hands went straight back to his neck, the tender skin screaming at the abrasions his nails were causing.

But after a few minutes, Alec realized his hands were now laying on his thighs. And not because Luke was physically keeping them down and away from his neck, but because Luke began to play. It was a gentle piece, one that he had composed only a few days before, but it was enough to distract Alec and bring his mind back to focus on his immediate surroundings.

And when the piece ended, Luke brought Alec’s hands up from where they sat, and laid them on the ivories. They were there for hours, going note by note, Alec learning the right hand of the piece. Luke only spoke a few times to give Alec advice on his hand placement, but besides that, the only thing in the room was the soft lullaby, repeating over and over as Alec’s young mind memorized the sensation of the keys.

And when Alec could play it without missing a beat, Luke spoke.

“ _Every time you feel this way_ ,” he reassures softly, “ _come down here and practice till your hands ache. Practice till you play like a virtuoso. Practice till he’s gone. Please.”_

Alec will never forget Luke’s words, the pleading in his voice. At the time, he didn’t understand fully what he meant. But as he aged and the words still rung in his head, he understood. All Luke wanted to do was protect him, but he didn’t have that kind of power to challenge Robert and Maryse. Alec’s always wanted to tell Luke that he’s never been at fault in any of this, but it’s obvious his words wouldn’t change the way he feels. Evident in the break of his steady voice, Luke completely blamed himself for not being able to help them.

The piece holds a place deep in his heart—a place where his parents haven’t tinged his memories. He looks to Luke, the only true father figure to care about his wellbeing, to care about his place on the planet, and shares a small smile. He then closes his eyes, and his fingers find their way with ease.

It began as a rather simple tune, but over the years as his skill progressed through the many times he practiced till his hands cramped, Luke added nuances and flares, lengthening the song by a few minutes and making it far more intricate than it began.

It’s now filled with complexities, although the tune never feels overwhelming. The notes are kept at a constant piano or pianissimo, making it easy for ears and minds to accept.

The piece ends quicker than he thought prior, though that may’ve been his fault for missing a few decrescendos and most likely entire measures. But it ends nonetheless, and Alec waits for the last note to filter away before opening his eyes.

He’s met with small, happy smiles, but sniffles sound from a few of them. He looks to Isabelle in question of their reactions, and she beams.

“Beautiful,” she whispers.

He looks to Jace, who grins proudly at his older brother, and then to Luke. Over the years, he’s learned how to read each of their faces, and he easily sees genuine joy and happiness on Luke’s.

Alec, on his worst months, has gone weeks without seeing Luke in the past few years. He’s almost permanently in the ballroom or with Clary, so running into him doesn’t happen often. And with the tension in the air from the song ending still taking up space in the air around them, a pit forms in Alec’s stomach. Sure, he’s thanked Luke on many occasions for minor things like looking after Max or comforting Isabelle when she’s upset, but he can’t remember when he’s thanked him fully. Thanked him for saving his life as a young child, and being the one constant that he could count upon. The one adult in his life who never lay a finger on him.

He offers Luke a warm smile in return, and nods to him, making a mental note that he needs to come down and visit more often. It’s not any of their faults for what’s happened to them, far from it, and they’ve only ever tried to help him. Especially if all this tragedy and heartbreak will finally be put to rest in a few months, when the curse realizes he’s failed his one mission, to get another to love him.

His eyes finally make their way to Magnus, who’s already looking at him.

His eyes glisten, the corner of his mouth lifting. Magnus nods, seemingly in a show of approval and acceptance. Alec shrugs his shoulders and closes the lid over the keys, holding eye contact with Magnus as it shuts completely. Oddly enough, and very out of character, Magnus is the first one to look away. He wrings his hands together in a ball and brings his lips into a tight line.

Alec can’t stop staring at him and his sudden change in demeanor. He becomes overtly aware of his own features, and he knows exactly what Magnus must be thinking—why Magnus had to look away, why he looks uncomfortable. He must be observing in horror at the scars all over his face, the pinkness that will never leave the torn skin. Magnus must see the stubs on Alec’s head, their only use to remind Alec of his form. He must see the monster he is on the inside reflected in his outward appearance.

The one to break the silence in the room, as per usual, is Simon.

“Alec, that was incredible! The only time I’ve heard you play is when you tried to teach me piano a year ago, and we all know how well that went. It didn’t go well, for everybody’s reference. But I’m so impressed, Alec! I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this skill from me for this many years!”

But for once, Alec doesn’t snicker at Simon’s outburst. He can’t stop staring at Magnus, who went from beaming at him, to folding his arms together and looking everywhere but him. What has he done?

And with the rose being acutely aware of every thought that passes through his mind, the sound of crumbling stone hits Alec’s ears.

“What was that?” Magnus asks, looking up to the shaking ceiling.

And while he stares elsewhere, the rest of the group looks to Alec uncertain. Of course, they all know what’s coming. Because as soon as the sound of an entire portion of the castle breaking off and hitting the cobble stone, another petal falling, Alec’s hands go to his neck and he runs.  

All else falls away. The yells from Isabelle, the pleads from Clary and Luke; all he can hear is the sound of his life slipping away. The realization of his loved ones dying from his own accord and his own decisions is deafening. And to add to list, there’s Magnus.

Of course, Magnus will never love a monster like him. He has been foolish enough to allow the enjoyment of Magnus’ company, knowing fully well it will only end in pain. He will never feel what Alec feels. Magnus doesn’t look at Alec in infatuation, but rather in contempt. And that’s why his attitude changed. He finally became aware of what Alec truly is.

They’ve only ever spoken a few times, and of those times, Magnus has hated every minute of it. He hates him. He will never feel the same way Alec does and he needs to understand that. Alec’s killed his family and he’ll take his own life in return, and Magnus will never get these months back. All because Alec has the ridiculous idea that one day, Magnus could love him.

The pain of realization, the pain of knowing what will be hits him in the chest. He lets out a strangled cry, his hands pulling up blood from where they attack.

* * *

 

The second Alec’s fingers lift from the ivories, with such grace and such closure, Magnus can’t help but be overwhelmed by the emotions filling the room. He can hear Isabelle crying and can see Clary trying to hold back, and he can’t help but wonder what the song means to all of them. Regardless of the not knowing the interpretation that influenced the piece, Magnus feels the strength and the emotion behind it.

When Alec finally looks to him, he can’t stop the smile forming on his cheeks.

His feelings have been all over the place with Alec, and earlier today, he physically couldn't stop himself from flirting. And when Alec was so obviously staring at him, Magnus felt in a daze, unable to think straight or calculate his next move. He too had been staring, the light from the doorway streaming in and putting him in a trance.

He's catching himself falling for Alec, the change in his feelings split into several categories; trying not hate him, trying to stand being in the same room without letting him get under his skin, tolerating him, and now stopping himself from forming feelings. He’s been at the castle for a few weeks now and before he effortlessly disliked Alec, and was proud of it. But now they’ve begun talking to each other on a comfortable basis, go back and forth teasing one another, and Magnus knows exactly what that means, what comes next. But is there any way to stop it, to prevent yourself from forming an attraction to a person you feel a strong pull to?

So as Alec stands there, closing the lid over the piano keys, Magnus forces himself to look away. His hands find their way together, rubbing the others knuckles to distract himself from Alec’s intense stare. Magnus can’t let this happen. He’s had his heart torn apart by somebody he worshiped for years, and he can’t take handle again. Not from somebody who once projected with anger, but is now projecting kindness.

A loud boom sounds from above Magnus, causing his head to shoot straight up to the ceiling, where the chandelier now shakes. Light scatters around the room with the tremors, hitting against every shiny object and bouncing right back.

“What was that?” he asks to the people before him, but garners no immediate response.

Worried something dangerous might be happening, Magnus looks frantically to the group. But none of them seem to be one bit worried about it, nor is anybody getting up from their place to see what the commotion is. No, they’re all looking right at Alec, who is squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his teeth, to the point where Magnus is afraid he's going to break his own jaw.

Magnus watches as Alec’s thumb and forefinger rub together, the action he noticed in the library. He presumed it to be a mere nervous tic, something most people acquire over their lifetime in one way or another, but the fear and concern painting the groups faces tells Magnus this is more than that.

Nobody moves towards Alec until the hand that was once at his side is clawing at his neck.

“Alec, please listen to me,” Isabelle urges, rushing towards him.

“Please, Alec, stay with us,” Jace says with concern.

“Alec, listen to our voices. You’re going to be okay,” Luke comforts.

But Alec doesn’t seem to be listening. His eyes spring open, completely glazed over, and before any of them can move further, he rushes out of the ballroom. Moments later, they hear an agonizing cry. The sound sends a shiver down Magnus' spine, so gut-wrenching that his stomach tightens and his pulse quickens.

“Alec, please come back! You’re okay!” Isabelle yells.

Several screams and yells bundle into a flurry of pleas for Alec to return, and Magnus stands in utter and complete confusion.

“What’s going on?” Magnus asks, desperately trying to get answers.

“Oh God Luke, he always hurts himself when this happens. Luke, somebody has to help him! We have to help him,” Isabelle begs.

Luke closes the lid to his keys shut, and says calmly, “Isabelle, you know I’d help him if I could. But none of us can get through to him when this happens. Especially now that it's getting closer; he's getting worse."

“We have to do something; last time this happened he went up to the roof. I can’t let that happen again, I can’t…I can’t see him like that. I—I can’t...” Isabelle begins hyperventilating, her breathing laboring and her words coming out in short bursts.

Magnus doesn’t think. He turns around and walks out the room.

“Magnus, no! He’ll only get more upset!”

“Just give him time, Magnus!”

But he continues up the stairwell, his feet taking him on the automatic path to the “forbidden” wing.

Magnus doesn’t have a clue what’s occurring with Alec or the castle or the group of objects that were before him seconds ago, but if Alec is as of much a danger to himself as they say he is, he can’t just stand there and do nothing. If he can get through to Alec, then it’s worth trying for his safety.

Magnus has been down that dark path before, several days after his breakup with Camille. He thought the world would be better, his mother's life would be better, if he wasn't in it. He contemplated for a few hours, his stomach tied in knots but his mind already decided. The bridge overlooking the stream of water below, just outside the skirts of the village, acted as a perfect ledge. Magnus got close enough to where his toes hung over the edge, the water beneath him cold enough to freeze him to the bone. But he never jumped. 

Life didn't get suddenly easier, he didn't become suddenly stronger, and the hole that was present before was still there. It may have taken a few weeks, a few months to realize why he never jumped, but it's because of Camille. The reason for wanting to jump was Camille, and the reason for his survival was the same wicked woman. He couldn't let her have the satisfaction of taking him down, so he put on a strong face until it became reality, and she no loner got under his skin.

Hearing that Alec has gone up the roof in the past, implying that these same thoughts torture his mind, Magnus feels his stomach contort. 

The path is familiar to the room, and he follows the yells, screams, and cries coming from down the hallway. He slows his feet to listen, uncertainty flooding him. Alec hasn’t shown anger in a considerable amount of time, but what if he gets overwhelmed again? What if he yells at Magnus to leave and never come back?

He tells himself that Alec has been acting different, he won’t do that to him. He knows he won’t. So, his feet continue forward until he’s in the doorway and he can see Alec.

He has his hands on the glass surrounding the rose, pounding it with his fists. With every hit, he lets out a scream of anguish, frustration building when the hits don’t budge the glass dome.

Magnus stands frozen for a moment, unsure of what to say, what to do. But nonetheless, taught by his mother that one can never give up on people, especially when they’re crying for help, he progresses into the room.

As he cautiously moves, completely focused on the erratic behavior being displayed in front of him, he fails to see the piece of wood teetering against the wall, and hits it with his foot, sending it flying against the ground.

“Isabelle, get out! Get out!” he screams.

Magnus can’t lie and say he didn’t flinch, but that doesn’t stop his movements. He takes a deep breath, and soon approaches close to Alec.

He can see from where he stands that Alec’s hands are covered in blood, red caking under his nails. Magnus can’t see any broken glass on the ground, nor can he see Alec's hands having any serious cuts, but soon his eyes land upon the man's neck. In a pattern similar to a rake against soil, there are deep nail marks, blood dripping delicately from each.

“Isabelle, what did I say? Stop trying to help me when you all know this is my fault!” Alec takes an exaggerated hit to the glass, letting out a shriek of pain at the meeting. Magnus knows his hands must be bruising at this point. His voice lowers to barely a whisper, and he whimpers, “I’m the one that deserves the death that is coming for you all.”

“Alexander.”

Alec immediately stops the pounding, his head slowly turning to face Magnus. He almost can’t recognize him. Where the once rosy cheeks stood, the hazel eyes beaming in the light, is a man scared and hopeless. His face has lost all color, and streaks of blood cover his forehead and cheeks. He doesn’t soften upon seeing Magnus, instead his eyes fill with immediate tears.

“Magnus,” he murmurs. “Magnus. Please. Please leave the room.”

“Alexander.”

“Magnus, please leave the room,” he begs, his eyes pleading.

“No, I won’t leave.”

“Magnus.” His voice begins to rise out of desperation. “Please! You don’t know anything about me. I’m a monster, and you of all people know! Leave!”

Magnus takes a step towards him, arms out in a plea of innocence and comfort. Alec instinctively inches backwards, but Magnus doesn't back down.

“That’s not true,” he says, shaking his head. He holds eye contact with Alec, making sure he can see the sincerity behind them. “I’m not leaving this room.”

The tears once welling in his eyes begin to spill over, turning a milky red as they slip over the stains of blood. He takes in a shaky breath.

“Please, Magnus. Please.” He repeats this phrase, repeats Magnus’ name, over and over again—each time losing energy, each time sounding more and more like a cry for help.

Alec lets out a final blow to the glass, his hand slowly slipping down the dome and falling onto the pedestal. His knees buckle and his body collapses onto the ground, Magnus quickly going to support his fall, arms ready to catch him.

Alec doesn’t recoil when Magnus balances his body against his own, and soon he’s racking with sobs. Magnus’ hands find his arms, rubbing them soothingly. He hums to quiet his cries, but he doesn’t try to stop him. Whatever is happening, whatever is torturing Alec, isn’t something that should be held in. He of all people knows just how painful it is to keep captive these kind of emotions. 

Magnus can’t even begin to piece together what this castle has on this family. Alec looked like an animal pinned in a corner, lashing out in a final attempt at survival. But Alec doesn’t want to live. He said himself he wants, and moreover deserves, death. Hearing that leave the lips of somebody who had just been laughing with his family, who had just been playing the piano to the point of bringing tears to others eyes—Magnus can feel his heart breaking at the sight, and feels a familiar pull. 

When his cries begin to lessen, Magnus feeling his chest slow against his own, he starts taking deep breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, barely loud enough for Magnus to hear. “I’m sorry.”

From where Magnus is holding his body, he can feel Alec rubbing his fingers together. And when Alec’s arm escapes from Magnus’ grasp and go towards the tender skin that is too weak to stand against him, Magnus grabs hold of his hand, physically not being able to watch Alec harm himself anymore.

Alec quickly looks up at him and Magnus is almost sure he’s going to leap out of place and scream. He’s sure he’s going to storm out of the room, or scream for Magnus to leave. But he simply stares at Magnus, his eyes asking question upon question.

He looks down at their hands, his holding Alec’s, the blood finding its way over onto Magnus' clothes and skin. He's all too familiar with Alec's wounds, with Alec's pain, but something has shifted.

He knows that stopping himself from falling for Alec isn’t going to work. Stopping himself from caring about this man, who is laying completely vulnerable in front of him, in a state much like his own a few years ago—none of it’s going to work.

“I won’t leave. I won’t leave you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I hope you liked it!! These losers are starting to like each other and there's nothin' anybody can do to stop it muahahaha. I honestly have no idea when the next chapter will be out, but thank you so much for sticking with me. We're starting to get into the beginning of their lovey dovey journey so get your butts ready for more cuteness.
> 
> As always, I'm on tumblr at "doddario" so you can send me messages there, or leave a comment here!! I really love hearing from you guys and it means more than you'll ever know. Love you all and see you next time!!! xxxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of apologizing. Lots of firsts. Lots of warmth in the bitter cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (EDIT: Literal seconds after posting this, it was released that Shadowhunters has been cancelled. I'm absolutely heartbroken over this news. This show meant the world to me, and I truly feel numb. If anything, I hope this chapter can help people to feel a little bit happier xxx)
> 
> Okay so hi! It's been what? 9 months since I last updated (sound like I got pregnant ahaha)? But ya about the wait, I'm super sorry. I'm a busy gal, and the last time I updated, I was applying to transfer from my community college. Fast forward nine months, and I was accepted everywhere I applied and I'm going to the one of the top universities in the world!! I've been working my butt off nonstop to get good grades, so focusing on anything other than school, homework and exams was out of the question. Not to mention I work on the side of being a full-time student!
> 
> But anyways, enough with the dramatics. I finished my finals a few weeks ago and have been working super hard on this chapter. I really love the way this one turned out, and I can't wait to continue with this story. Thank you to everyone who will actually read this chapter, even after my 9 month hiatus! I love y'all so much. (Also can we TALK about how good 3a was?? I stan this show so hard my lord)
> 
> Quick summary of where we left off: Alec and Magnus are startin to get all flirty and cute, but both are still super cautious about it. We ended with a petal falling, and Alec running away from everyone and hurting himself, but Magnus came to his rescue. 
> 
> Trigger warnings:  
> -Child abuse mentioned  
> -Self-harm mentioned
> 
> Enjoy my loves!! xxx

“I don’t mean to be a bother, but approximately how much longer will this take, Clarissa?”

Clary huffs loudly, and Magnus assumes she rolls her eyes. Magnus has become familiar with catching different facial expressions on his newfound friends, although it can still be met with great difficulty. But he knows she’s exuding fond irritation since Jace let it slip that her full name is Clarissa, and Magnus has taken a liking to utilizing it.

“I only need a few more measurements, but this is only the first step. I’m not sure why you’re complaining, considering the level of whining I’ve had to endure recently about your lack of attire.”

“I don’t have any clothing and have been wearing the same tunic for a week! Pardon me for voicing my concerns.”

“Always with the dramatics,” she says, extending the tape measure. “Lift your arm up, please.”

Magnus obeys begrudgingly, the process taking far longer than anticipated. He was incredibly grateful when Clary offered to create a new, small wardrobe for him. But Magnus hasn’t been receiving the best sleep for the past few nights, and his normally positive disposition is slowly fading with each new measurement. Although he is trying his best to keep his snarky commentary to himself, it’s never worked in his favor.

Sleeping the first few weeks in the castle felt easy, natural. His body was pitted with exhaustion, from exploring the halls to quite literally fearing for his life. He assumed the sleepless nights would plague him in the beginning, but they hit once he’d grown accustomed to his living situation—as accustomed as possible.

Magnus lays awake turning all night, his limbs restless and his mind never exhausting. His mother is a topic that his mind obsesses over despite knowing her safety. And while he knows he was the one to sacrifice himself, and this was ultimately his choice, his heart yearns for her. But not in the same way as it once pled.

On the first nights, he longed to see her, to find comfort in her presence. He didn’t want to accept his fate, but that’s not the case anymore. He’s accepted the circumstances he’s found himself in, and is finding that he’s enjoying his time, his forever.

His mother is still vibrant in his mind, but the ink is feathering at the edges. She’s softer, memories of her voice dampening, conversations of the past becoming tales. It took weeks, but he’s now reminiscing about his childhood, about the little family he became so accustomed to. It’s a warm feeling, although it settles into a comfortable spot low in his chest.

And there’s another in the house whose face continues to flash through his mind, despite Magnus’ attempts at filtering them out.

“I apologize, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I haven’t been getting the best beauty sleep.”

“Is that why the circles under your eyes look like crescent moons?”

Magnus gasps in fabricated horror, turning away from Clary dramatically.

“I’m being severely disrespected, in my own room!”

“Pardon you, Sir, but who stayed in this very same room for at least two years before you found yourself here?”

Magnus holds his hands up in sacrifice. “Please forgive my mistakes and don’t stab me with a needle.”

Clary clicks her tongue and smiles, the tape measure coiling back towards her against all laws of nature.

“Lucky for you, I believe I’ve gathered all measurements needed. You can leave me all alone in here and go devour your book now.”

His eyes flit to the leather-bound pages sitting on his bedside table, but he doesn’t desire the stories quite so much anymore. When he first arrived, he didn’t believe he’d ever find comfort in those around him, considering the circumstances. But Clary, Luke, Isabelle, and sometimes even Simon, bring him more comfort than fabricated tales ever could. 

“Not when I can talk to my favorite person in the household.” He winks at her, but she just laughs.

“We all know who your favorite person is. And I’m about two feet too short to fit the description.”

Magnus knows who she’s alluding to, but he will neither confirm nor deny the accusation. He’s not about to spew deep secrets about who is keeping him awake in the dead of night. Especially not in this tight-knit household, where the wardrobe and the teapot tell one another everything.

“Come on, Clary. Talk to me while you’re making my gorgeous, stunning new attire.”

“Oh, you know how to flatter a girl, Magnus. What should we talk about?”

She’s already gathering fabric, her expertise quickly becoming apparent. There’s no hesitation in her actions, even while she’s talking.

“I don’t have much going on recently. I thought maybe you’d have some exciting stories.”

Clary laughs as a piece of fabric comes flying from the pair of scissors. “Even before I was confined to my current state, I never did anything that could be considered exciting.”

“What about pastimes? Any hobbies?”

Clary movements, once quick and skilled, now slow considerably, hesitation apparent in her rigid figure.

“I used to paint. Drip the canvas in every feeling flowing through me.” Her voice barely registers in his ears when she says, “I miss it.”

Magnus hears the heartbreak, the longing. He had forgotten the conversation he overheard between Clary and her father, with Luke assuring her she would be able to paint again soon. Magnus wants to quiet her worries and apologize for bringing up the sensitive topic, but her words break through the silence.

“My mother taught me from a young age. She’d sit me down in front of one of her canvases, hand me a brush, and allow me to paint whatever I pleased.” She laughs to herself, her smile widening. “One night as a young child I decided that some of her paintings needed some help, so I took it upon myself and painted over her beautiful creations. Only now do I realize that I prevented her from selling paintings that must’ve taken her weeks, but she said nothing. She told me I did a lovely job and encouraged me to keep going.”

His heart tugs. This castle seems to be filled with stories of woe and heartbreak, yet all of them are hidden by smiles and ease.

“Your mom must have been an incredible woman. Our mothers sound quite similar,” he says in effort to offer some form of relief. A wave of grief makes its way through his veins, of wishing to see his own mother—an emotion he longed to be over. Not that he wants to forget about his mother or the life they built together, but he needs for this aching low in his chest to cease.

Magnus does well to remind himself that Clary hasn’t seen her mother in years, while he had the luxury of seeing his own mere weeks ago.

She offers him a smile back, but it falls shortly after forming. “I really miss her. I know I have my father who has shown a level of strength I’ve never known possible, but I miss her making me cry from laughter. I miss the smile Luke had whenever he was around her.” Clary pauses to take a deep breath. “And I can’t help the guilt I feel when I realize that she had to deal with the grief of losing the two people she loved most in this world.”

Magnus nods at her words, but he can’t even begin to imagine the pain she’s in, knowing her mother is roaming around somewhere, believing her daughter and husband to be dead.

“I’m sorry, Clary,” he consoles.

She shakes her head and blinks quickly a few times to whisk her tears away, a newfound assurance forming.

“I’ll see her again one day. Now more than ever I’m positive of that.” She sends a warm smile his way.

“Has something changed?”

“Or someone,” she adds with a wink.

Magnus narrows his eyes at her, which earns an airy laugh. She picks up the scissors again and gets back to work.

A comfortable silence falls between them, and his mind begins to wander. He feels the exhaustion from lack of sleep pitted in his body, leading his thoughts to tiptoe towards the one who is preventing his rest.

“Have you seen Alexander lately?” He blurts out the question in a mere second, no hesitation or will power employed.

He hasn’t seen Alec in several days, not even in the library or the gardens. While he hasn’t tried going out of his way to find him, he can’t say he hasn’t lingered a few minutes longer at dinner in the hopes that he would show up.

After what occurred a few nights ago, he’s been plagued with thoughts of the man. His wellbeing, whether Magnus likes it or not, has become a constant in his mind. Magnus needs to talk to him, see him in person.

“I haven’t. Sorry.”

He nods his head towards her and excuses himself from the room.

* * *

 

Alec taps his knuckles lightly against the door frame, his other hand fiddling with the edges of his tunic.

“Mind if I join you?”

Luke ceases his playing, his lid closing sharply onto his keys.

“Alec! What a surprise. Haven’t seen you voluntarily down here in years.” Luke would never do or say anything to hurt Alec, but he knows that Luke has never been the same around him since the curse. And he hasn’t exactly kept it a secret that he’s isn’t the happiest with how Alec has been conducting himself.

Alec averts his eyes, guilt creeping its way into him, but his previous desire to see Luke stands. The abrasion he receives from others in the household is well deserved for the way he’s acted, and he can’t continue to excuse his behavior when faced with the consequences.  

“So,” he begins, shifting his weight between legs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What were you playing?”

“A new composition. In fact, it was inspired by your performance from the other day.” Luke slouches at the words, and his voice drops to a whisper. “I haven’t heard that song in years.”

“I’m sorry.” Those are the only words that Alec can manage to string together, but they’re not nearly significant enough.

“Sorry? About what, Alec?”

“I…I’ve been horrible to you, and everyone for that matter, and there’s no excuse for it.” His head shakes back and forth, his hands wringing in front of him.

“Alec, you don’t need to apologize.”

“No, but I do.” Alec grinds his teeth together, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. His legs wobble a few more times, his arm seeking leverage on the doorframe. “Luke, you raised me. You protected me from all evil in the world. You were, and are, the only parent in my life. And I never thanked you before…and with this curse, I have neglected you.”

“Really, Alec, you don’t have to do this,” Luke cautions.

“You saved my life more times than I can count. And I am truly thankful for that.”

“No, Alec. There’s nothing for you to be thankful for.” At this, Alec sobers up enough to tilt his head.

“Pardon?”

“Seeing you hurt by your father and not having the strength or courage to stop it haunts me to this day. I should have been able to stop it. I should have been able to save you. But I didn’t. And this curse happened consequently. My aim was to protect you and I failed. You have nothing to thank me for.” His smooth voice ends rough, a crack in his exterior.

“You were the one person in my life I could count on. I have never, not once, blamed you for what happened to me. Never.”

Alec walks over to Luke and kneels, placing his forehead against his side. Years ago, as a small child and Luke a figure of parental guidance towering feet above Alec, he would bury his face into Luke’s side to hide from his parent’s fury. Luke would wrap his arms around Alec, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. These memories hold pure light.

When Alec thinks about his past, the most prominent and vivid memories are those with his father, are those with screaming, are those that he can’t stop repeating over and over. There’s empty space between them, the distance in memories reminding Alec of what he no longer has the capability to remember—whether that’s because his mind has permanently erased the memories to preserve his sanity or not, Alec isn’t entirely sure. But he can’t deny the rays of light blurring the emptiness between moments of terror.

Being a child and running carefree around the castle with Isabelle and Jace; Isabelle and him making shadow people on the walls when their parents had gone to bed and the candles were giving out a soft glow; Max and Isabelle sneaking into Alec’s room when there were particularly bad storms—but none felt quite the same as the memories he held with Luke.

The love Luke had for him was paternal, and Alec found the comfort in Luke that he longed for from Robert and Maryse. Every memory with Luke holds a special place in Alec’s heart, and although some are tinged by Robert’s fury, he only ever feels contentment when he allows himself to remember their happiness.

And he can never thank Luke enough for not only caring and loving him, but for protecting his siblings when he was too weak, too broken to do it himself.

“I love you, Luke.”

“And I love you, too.”

They stay in place for some well-needed moments, and after taking many deep, calming breaths, Alec’s soul feels lighter than it has in years. But the feeling is interrupted by the person Alec can’t seem to keep his mind off.

Magnus.

He hasn’t seen nor spoke to him since the petal falling. This man may be his last hope to save those he loves, may be the one he falls in love with, but in the first month of being here, he’s seen the foulest side of Alec. There’s no way to erase Magnus’ memory of Alec pounding the glass, tearing away at the nape of his neck. And the aching scar is a painful reminder of that.

Isabelle made Alec keep a cold rag on his neck after the incident because the raw skin emitted intense agony, constantly flush from heat. Normally when Alec can’t control his behavior, his neck tingling, Isabelle is there to calm him and offer reassurance. It may take a few moments, but she almost always succeeds; Alec is able to slow his breathing and remove himself from the danger of his own actions.

But Alec ran from the comfort of his family, and for the few minutes he had alone in the dark room with glowing rose, taunting him, his nails dug into his skin without reluctance.

Then Magnus came, his voice able to bring Alec out of captivity. His words broke the cycle of Alec’s own endangerment, the strength and warmth from his hands grounding him. Alec didn’t have the energy to think of the costs in the moment, but his mind now has the time to think of nothing but the consequences.

The scars that line Alec’s body are a reminder of who he is destined to become, a catalyst to drive him to insanity. And Magnus saw Alec creating scars with his own trembling fists. It’s an experience Alec wants to so horribly to forget, to erase it from the banks of his mind. The image must be seared into Magnus’ eyes.

His heart beats faster at the thought of seeing Magnus, the uncertainty enough to tug a cord inside him. Magnus has every right to avoid curating and rebuilding the sliver of companionship they had gained.

And yet Alec feels an unrelenting pull. Whether it’s from his mind or his heart, his soul draws him to Magnus; the need of seeing him supersedes the fear.

Alec informs Luke he has a matter to take care of, to which Luke smirks and restarts the phrase he left off at.

His feet to take him wherever they please, the halls long and empty from years of neglect. Over the past weeks the castle has felt alive, the walls breathing freely. His life has lacked warmth since he became aware of his parent’s abuse, the curse only emphasizing that emptiness. 

The truth that it will only last till his birthday nags at him, his mind a closed window and reality an incessant branch tapping at the glass. But he allows himself to relax into the warmth that is flowing through the castle after decades of a cold breeze gnawing at their heels.

When he approaches a long path of paintings, composed of the castles past inhabitants, his feet cling to the marble beneath them.

His parent’s eyes bore into his, their judgement lived on through their portraits. This piece was painted when his mother was pregnant with him, completely devoid of life or joy. His father has one hand on her shoulder, and Alec can’t help the shudder that travels from his neck at the sight.

He memorized his father’s hands, the way his fingers cracked when locked in a fist. Even through the painting, he recognizes the roughness of his knuckles. And God, does he despise how similar he stands to him. The rigidness in his shoulders, the one hand always placed neatly behind his back.

An uneasiness creeps its way into Alec’s chest, not uncommon when faced with his parents. But his mind is at war, one side protecting him at all costs, the other pushing the ugly truth to the forefront. It’s a thought he’s refused to acknowledge, for he wouldn’t have the strength to keep his composure once he allows it passage. A weight descends onto him, his jaw slamming shut.

Where were his parents now?

The enchantress set a curse through the village—the entire Lightwood family and their servants had all perished in a blazing fire that ate its way through the castle. He knows his parents escaped the blunt force of the curse, a fact that he can never forgive the sorceress for. But to add another cost of the curse, Alec doesn’t know what became of Robert and Maryse.

Two scenarios play out in his mind. In the first, the enchantress cursed them to forget about their children. They’re out living a content, childless life—the life they always wanted. In scenario two, they believed there to be a fire, but never came back. They never mourned the death of their children, never returned to the castle to retrieve family heirlooms.

Alec’s body aches, his neck throbbing from both impulse and past pain. His feet, far ahead of his mind, whisk him away from the painting, but his eyes remain on his fathers, unable to pull away. As if looking away, breaking eye contact admits defeat. As he rounds the hallway leading to the garden, his body runs full force into another.

“Magnus!”

“Alexander, I apologize, I wasn’t looking where I was walking.”

Although his mind remains a blur from facing his parent’s legacy, he can’t disregard the relief he feels upon seeing Magnus. Not just because this was his initial goal of wandering the castle, but because he doesn’t want to be alone right now. And Magnus’ presence has an innate ability of calming him down.

“Oh no, Magnus, it’s fine. Actually,” he says, his shaky hand scratching the back of his head, “I was looking for you.”

“Oh?” A small smile forms on his lips. “What a coincidence. I was looking for you as well. I suppose fate was lending a hand.”

He’s forgotten how to form words. From the intensity he felt from his parents, to the utter confusion and warmth that Magnus brings, his mind can’t keep up with his everchanging emotions. And hearing the word fate, accompanied by a coy smile that he refuses to read too much into, Alec flushes.

“Would you like to take a walk in the gardens?”

Alec, all but struck mentally and physically by Magnus, can only nod his head. The sound of Magnus’ light laughter hits his ears.

The pair walk in silence, weaving their way through the dormant rose gardens. Every few steps, Magnus’ shoulder brushes against Alec’s arm. Whether or not it’s purposeful doesn’t matter, for the heat that Magnus brings is enough to send a slight shock through him.

But he can’t ignore the reason for wanting to see Magnus in the first place. And after seeing his father, one who had constant outbursts and harmed his family in the process, Alec knows now more than ever he needs to apologize for his actions.

“About the other night,” Alec all but blurts out. Magnus stops and turns to him, awaiting Alec’s words. “I’m sorry.”

“And what are you apologizing for?” Magnus responds, a crease forming between his brows.

Alec sighs, not in reaction to Magnus but in annoyance with himself. He presses his palms roughly into his eyes.

“I’m sorry for what you had to see. I’m…” He pauses to find the right words, avoiding eye contact. “I can’t control my actions or impulses when I’m like that and I try, but…if I scared you or made you never want to speak to me again, I’d understand. Seeing a monster will do that to people.”

“Oh, Alexander,” Magnus begins, taking a tentative step towards him. “There’s absolutely no need for you to apologize. In fact, I was walking around the castle to find you and make sure you were okay. How you express your emotions is not mine to judge. If I didn’t want to help you, I wouldn’t have.”

* * *

 

Magnus can feel the walls that were tightly formed around his heart being slowly torn down, piece by piece; the puzzle that is Alec, slowly being solved.

“I went up there to help you, and I was looking today to see if you were okay. Not in a million years do you have to apologize for this, and never should you call yourself a monster.”

Something flashes across Alec’s face, his entire body flinching at the word. The word had physical thorns, tearing at his skin. It’s obvious it’s been hurtled at him as a stinging insult, and when he looks back to Magnus with pure heartbreak, it takes him a moment to remember.

“I called you a monster,” Magnus murmurs.

At the repeating of the word, Magnus is flooded with guilt and horror with the way Alec’s expression morphs into one of pain.

“Alexander. I must apologize, I—”

“Don’t,” Alec says, holding one hand up. “Don’t apologize to me. I deserved your words. I mean, look at me.”

Magnus forgets being cautious and walks until he’s standing closely in front of Alec. He has to look up to meet eyes with him, but he hopes the sincerity transcends.

“I was wrong. I was angry and upset, and I lashed out at you. I didn’t—”

Alec laughs low, no self-pity evident, and shrugs at Magnus. “But that’s the thing. You weren’t wrong. You called me what others think but are too afraid to speak. It’s okay.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Magnus chastises, finding himself growing agitated with the conversation. Not at Alec, but at Alec’s words. He can’t stand idly by while somebody tears themselves down. “What I said was nowhere near acceptable. I didn’t know you. But I do now.”

Alec stares at Magnus, something tugging at his eyes. His brow creases, but he doesn’t voice his disagreement. He walks over to the bridge that overlooks the frozen water. Magnus follows and takes cautious steps to join him.  

Magnus is overtly aware of Alec’s presence, with Alec’s silence only building the tension in his shoulders.

“Jace fell through this ice once,” Alec suddenly says.

Magnus startles at this. Although he knows Alec is diverting the subject, he doesn’t want to bring him any more discomfort by making a point of it.

“You can’t simply say that and not tell the full story.”

Alec smiles to himself and points to the very corner of the water.

“Right over there used to be a tree with a wooden swing hanging off the edge of it. We pushed each other between lessons, our tutor always having to yell at us to come back inside. After a few years, we got too big for it. But Jace was convinced it would still be fine, so one day, at the beginning of winter when the water had only just frozen, he decided to prove his point.” He covers his mouth at the laugh bubbling on his lips. “The ropes broke, and Jace fell right through.”

Magnus’ shoulders shake from the laughter. “I’m presuming he got out somehow, considering he was bothering me a mere hour ago?”

“I, of course, went in after him. When we came back into the house, two of us soaking and freezing, that was the tip of the iceberg. The tree was removed the next day.”

“That’s rude, considering Jace could’ve fallen in countless times more. Who did such a terrible thing to ruin my joy?”

Both reluctance and fear is clear in the way his eyes flutter quickly and his breathing hitches.

Magnus realizes his mistake a beat too soon, knowing full well not to mention his parents. And like clockwork, out of the corner of his eye, he can see Alec’s fingers brushing together on the railing. Knowing what’s coming, Magnus places his hand next to Alec’s to bring his attention elsewhere.

“Well, we can make a fool out of Jace without the help of a tree. I have plenty of ideas.”

Alec brings his eyes back up to Magnus after a few more seconds of rubbing his thumb, his face tired, but a small smile forms.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No, sadly. I always did want the sibling dynamic growing up.”

“Trust me, you always want what you don’t have. And once you get it, you’ll be screaming to give it back.”

Magnus laughs heartily. “Come on, Isabelle doesn’t seem too bad.”

“When she’s not inserting herself into every aspect of my life, I suppose she’s alright.”

“I do need to remind you that I am also loyal to Isabelle and will be telling her everything that transpires between us.”

Alec narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“I have to go both ways, Alec. In more areas than one.”

The taller man stares blankly at him, only causing Magnus’ smile to grow.

“Oh, you have so much to learn.”

He looks out to the water, imagining the flowing nature persisting beneath the rigid surface. He sees exactly where the tree must have been removed, Maryse and Robert destroying every form of joy for their children—their own life and blood.

His blood boils in his veins, skin crawling. For his whole life, he had a mother who would sacrifice everything for him, would give the clothes off her back to offer protection for him. And happening at the same time, Alec endured pain that no human, let alone child, should experience. 

“You didn’t deserve the parents you received.” Alec visibly recoils. “I lost my father at a very young age, but my mother rarely spoke about him. Maybe once every few months he’d be mentioned in passing. And I always felt bad for myself, deeming my life a tragedy because I didn’t have a father to guide me. Now, I know my mother was more than enough.”

Alec looks to him, his body turned to Magnus. He’s inches away, and normally Magnus would find an urge to pull the person closer, but he finds peace in the comforting warmth.

Alec’s listening intently to Magnus’ words, soaking them in.

“I don’t mean to pry or place myself somewhere I shouldn’t, but your parents were awful. Incredibly, horribly awful.”

Alec laughs, the tension remaining in his shoulders. He shakes his head, looking back to the horizon of the garden.

“They had a lot of pressure on them to be of upmost reverence, and the pressure was transferred to us. I don’t blame them entirely.”

“You shouldn’t make excuses for them. Neither you nor your siblings deserved your upbringing. You deserved much more than those horrid people.” He winces at the rigidity of his voice, but he physically can’t hide the distaste he has formed for the Lightwood parents. “I apologize for my harsh words; I shouldn’t speak on a matter I know nothing of. I’ve been receiving little sleep lately, and when that occurs, my temper loses any ounce of control.”

His lips cock to one side, the lopsided grin soft. “You don’t have to censor yourself. You’re right.”

“Pardon?”

“My, um, parents,” Alec begins, voice shaking. It’s obvious this topic brings him considerable anxiety, making Magnus’ anger grow imagining the kind of abuse he to had to live through. “You’re right about them. They weren’t good people—to their children or anyone else for that matter.” His fingers, which he was running through his hair, are trembling.

“This is the second time you’ve admitted I’m correct in the past few days. Are you sure you’re feeling of good health?” Magnus teases good-naturedly, hoping to shift Alec’s mind away from the dreaded topic of his parents.

Magnus knows to stop prying now, in fear that he’ll take it one step too far. He refuses to admit it to himself, but he finds himself wanting to know what occurred in Alec’s past. And although his interest in the castle began out of pure curiosity, he feels that he has a personal stake in it now. 

Alec flits his eyes to him, fondly rolling them. “Why have you not been sleeping well? Is the room not comfortable?”

“No, it’s a room fit for a king. I’m having trouble turning my thoughts off once my head hits the pillow.”

Alec hums in recognition. “Unfortunately, I can’t offer any help. I’m awake most of the night.”

“You should’ve told me that sooner. Only Lord knows how much less bored I would be if I had somebody to be with when I can’t sleep.”

Magnus hears Alec clear his throat and sees his cheeks flushing. Even without meaning to, Magnus apparently can’t help his implications. It comes naturally.

“Alexander, who knew your mind went to such places. I was only speaking of playing chess or enjoying each other’s company in the library.”

He winks in Alec’s direction, who shakes his head and looks out to the water. The conversation was flowing between them, the cold biting at their cheeks but doing nothing to stop the warmth being shared.

Magnus can feel Alec’s skin near his and looks down to where their hands are merely an inch from touching; his fingertips burn to move, burn to ‘accidentally’ brush against Alec’s. When did Magnus begin thinking like this? When did being around Alec shift from never wanting to be in his presence, to wanting to feel the softness of his skin?

His eyes focus onto Alec’s many scars. They’re apart of him and not something Magnus finds anything but interest and beauty in, but he takes note of the ones littering his hands.

His knuckles seem to be the only part that the scars dare not touch. In a perfect line, beginning with his index finger and ending with his pinky, soft, untouched skin lies. Magnus wonders why the placement ends abruptly across his bones. Why did the curse—if the curse is even the reason for these scars—leave this small, wisp of skin alone? Was it to be a reminder to Alec?

Alec quickly takes his hand away from the railing and coughs under his breath. Magnus was blatantly staring at his hands, a rather impolite act he hadn’t realized he was doing. But he knows better than to apologize and bring attention to the situation.

“How many times did you have to save your siblings from themselves?”

Alec is stuck in his own mind, his eyes foggy and resting on an innocuous spot in the distance. His face contorts in pain, although besides the freezing cold, there’s nothing physically harming him. Magnus can only imagine the warzone in his thoughts and wishes he could aid in some way. But he gives Alec space, not speaking or moving until he’s grounded himself.

And eventually, Alec does. He blinks quickly a few times, the film slowly fading from his eyes, and turns back to Magnus. His face remains sullen and looks apologetic, to which Magnus only assumes he didn’t hear the question.

“It’s okay, Alec,” Magnus reassures, trying his best to avoid a condescending tone. “How many times do you think you’ve saved your siblings from danger they’ve put themselves into?”

Immediately, his face lights up. Magnus knows by now that his siblings are the one thing to bring a smile to his face, although the grin never quite reaches his eyes.

“I can’t call myself a hero all the time. Whenever our parents would leave for a conference or any outing, Isabelle and I would go ice skating. One day, when the ice was nowhere near thick enough, we decided to go anyway. I hadn’t been in months because my leg had been…hurt, so the moment we could skate, we did. Long story short, my leg fell through and it took Isabelle a solid minute to stop laughing and help me out.” He sighs, leaning down to gently pat his leg. “And to this day, I have no feeling in my left knee.”

“Seems to me like this lake is more trouble than its worth,” Magnus says between laughs. “As are your siblings—don’t tell Isabelle I said that.”

“I wouldn’t plan on telling her if I hadn’t pleaded for silence several minutes ago as well.” Alec shrugs his shoulders and places his hands neatly behind his back.

“I propose a truce. No telling Isabelle what words transpired today,” Magnus offers, holding his hand out to bind his words.

Alec hesitates, his eyes fluttering between the ground and Magnus’ hand. Magnus saw plenty of Alec when he was healing him, and he’s no stranger to touching his bare skin. But this feels different. He’s tempted to run his palm over his trousers to ensure there’s no excess moisture, but Alec untangles his hands and reaches out before Magnus can move.

His grip is strong, although not entirely a surprise because of his size. Magnus can feel the burns under his fingertips, their raised skin soft against his. While he would expect them to be rough based on their appearance, the fingers that wrap around his own are gentle. And as soon as the contact begins, Alec pulls his hand from Magnus, careful to replace it behind his back.

Magnus attempts to read his face, keen to understand what’s running through his head. He doesn’t seem angry, or upset, but confused. And as they turn away from each other, Magnus spots a leaf breaking off from the nearest tree and floating onto the ice.

With each breeze, the leaf slips across the ice. It’s delicate in the way it swirls through the air, landing onto the ice with grace before being picked up by the wind again. Magnus envies and empathizes with it—it’s free from the place it grew, which is a gift of growth itself, but as it strays further from its home, it withers away and becomes one with the ground. It will find a new home wherever it leads, but freedom remains the first step.

Magnus desires the wind beneath his feet and between the ice, alike the travels of the leaf. He wants, yearns, for the feeling of freedom.

“Let’s skate.”

“Magnus,” Alec cautions, allowing time for Magnus to revel in the way his name sounds rolling off his tongue, “I haven’t gone in years.”

“Lies. Maybe you’re just not that skilled and are afraid to be beat.” Magnus says it with a shrug, like it’s an obvious fact. “I’ve never gone ice skating before, but believe me, I have many hidden talents just waiting to be shown off.”

Alec tilts his head, a smirk plastered on his face. “You’re on, Bane.”

Magnus introduces Alec to Phillippe when they’re in the stable, picking up their skates and heavier coats to protect from the cold. He feels grateful for the space Phillippe has been given to explore, the stable being incredibly spacious and warm with copious amounts of hay lining the interior walls.

And while Magnus makes his way over to the coats, he hears quiet mumbling behind him. Alec stands next to the horse, gently stroking his mane and whispering to him. A small smile appears on his lips whilst he’s speaking, and a blush rises to his cheeks when he catches Magnus staring at their exchange.

“Are you trying to win over my horse, Alexander?”

“Of course not.” He says, making his way over with two pairs of skates.

“Were you telling him all sorts of falsehoods about me?”

Alec crosses his arms. “I didn’t spread lies, but you may have come up in the conversation.”

“I did?” Magnus whispers, his voice low in his chest. “And what was said?”

Alec ponders this for a moment, scratching his chin. “That’s between me and Phillippe.”

“Tease,” Magnus sighs dramatically and takes the skates from Alec’s hand, hoping the heat in his cheeks isn’t evident. And if it is, it can easily be blamed on the cold. 

Magnus sits at the edge of the lake, lacing up his skates in pure concentration. Alec is next to him, methodically finishing the process with ease. But Magnus has never done this before, so his laces end up more tangled than tied.

“I would suggest standing and finding your balance in the dirt before moving to the ice,” Alec says, quickly shadowing over him, blocking the harsh wind.

Magnus sticks his hand out to refuse help and pushes his shoulders back proudly when he doesn’t waver upon standing. He allows a few moments to adjust, and then sends a prideful look Alec’s way, who simply gestures to the ice. It sits dauntingly at his toes, mocking him before he’s even set foot.

Near him, Alec waits. While he appreciates the sentiment, he’s never been good with patience. Magnus isn’t a naturally patient person and wants perfection with every new skill. It’s a flaw that he accepts and wants to improve upon, but his competitive spirit is incredibly strong-willed.

He stares down the ice, silently pleading with it to not make a fool of him in front of Alec. Not that he would care or judge him harshly, but his own self-esteem needs the ice’s cooperation.

Magnus contemplates where his first foot placement should be and sets one blade down. He wavers for a second and sticks both arms out, balancing like a young child learning to walk. As he gains his composure, he allows the second blade to meet the ice, and words of victory leave his mouth. This is quickly cut short when his skates slip underneath him and he lands on his butt, effectively knocking the air out of his chest and certainly bruising his tailbone.

Alec chuckles behind his hand, a poor attempt at hiding his amusement. Magnus sends him a scowl as his butt begins to numb. Not from the fall itself, but from the intense bite of the cold.  

He rolls his eyes and mutters a curse or two under his breath at the ease of Alec’s movements. But despite the sour look Magnus has, Alec approaches him and offers his hand.

Magnus can’t say he doesn’t falter for a beat. Alike Alec hesitating when Magnus offered his hand, this feels intimate. He’s not sure what inside him causes this reaction—maybe it’s his stubbornness overpowering his desire to get off the bitter ground, or the way his heart is fluttering.

Alec pushes his hand closer, not taking note of Magnus’ tentativeness. “I don’t want you falling every two seconds. If you break the ice, we’re both in trouble.”

When Magnus finally takes Alec’s hand in his, immediate heat returns to his body. It spreads from his hand and up his arm, warming his chest and calming the fluttering. Alec’s grasp is gentle, but he carries Magnus’ weight as he regains balance.

Magnus, despite the frustration and slight embarrassment fueling him, slips as soon as he gains ground. But Alec’s arms are there to catch him, his composure not faltering for even a second. His hands land on Alec’s biceps, the muscles beneath the cloak evident under his touch. Sweat forms on his brow, and he scolds himself for acting like a schoolboy in love. 

“You just feel guilty for bringing me onto this death contraption,” Magnus mutters, hoping to evade from his unsteady breathing.

Alec lets out an amused noise and his arms flex. Magnus removes his hands and hovers them instead, his mind not capable of focusing on anything but the muscle his fingers were sinking into.

“This is coming from the person who challenged me in the first place.”

“Well, you should know by now, Alexander, that my competitive spirit should never be indulged.”

He scoffs. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Alec stands with his arms slightly outward, bent close to Magnus. With his hands normally resting neatly behind the small of his back, Magnus notices this change in posture. His feet remain at a soldier’s distance, placed directly under his broad shoulders. Alec feels comfortable enough to loosen his stance, a fact that causes the sweat on Magnus’ brow to persist. 

“Rule number one: never fall backwards. If you feel yourself slipping, lean forwards and bend your knees. You’ll be less likely to become injured, and we don’t want you breaking your skull. Or tailbone.”

Magnus wiggles his brow and is seconds from making a suggestive comment, but Alec clears his throat.

“Keep a hold of my arms, and I’ll skate backwards. Don’t focus on your own blades,” he says when he sees Magnus staring adamantly at his skates. “Notice the way I move my feet and try to mimic it.”

Little does Alec know that the reason he’s watching his skates is because he can’t keep eye contact with him—not while he’s in this proximity. And now he’s being asked to hold onto Alec’s arms and focus. Those are not two actions that can be crossed.

“Easier said than done,” he murmurs.

Magnus lightly places his hands onto Alec’s forearms, hoping he can keep better focus if he’s away from the upper region. Alec begins to skate gracefully backwards—as gracefully as possible with Magnus’ weight slowing him down. How he is skating while holding another person’s weight dumbfounds Magnus, and he deems magic from the curse plays a role in this.  

Despite his lack of attentiveness, Magnus does as he’s told and focuses on Alec’s feet as they move effortlessly. While he always thought skating was walking on ice, Alec’s feet are gliding; he’s not stepping like he would on solid ground, he’s pushing his feet into the ice to propel himself, his feet barely lifting to make space.

The first few attempts at copying Alec are futile as Magnus loses balance time after time, but he never falls to the ground. When he feels himself slip, he instinctively leans into Alec, although he is certain to keep enough space between them, much to his own dismay. He finds his hands migrating to Alec’s upper arms but uses willpower to push them back down.

They skate around like this long enough for Magnus to lose track of how many laps they’ve achieved. He also loses track of how many times he slips, how many times he falls onto Alec, and how many times Alec clears his throat.

“The movement may not feel natural to begin with, but I promise it is. Allow your skates to glide across the surface of the ice,” Alec observes after allowing Magnus to figure things out on his own. “Maybe, um,” Alec hesitates, his stutter reappearing. He slows them both to a halt and takes a deep, shaky breath. “Look up at me. Or you could look at the sky, whatever is easier. Just, um, look up.”

Magnus shuts his eyes and steadies his breathing. He’s kept his eyes trained on the ground for however long they’ve been skating, and he didn’t plan on moving his eyes anywhere else.

He takes a moment of self-reflection and confusion, telling himself that Alec is nothing more than an acquaintance. Magnus, as always, is reading too much into their interactions and falsifying a relationship; this only hurts him and is an unhealthy way of living. Whatever Magnus feels won’t be reflected in Alec, a fact that he must come to terms with.

When he finally looks up, eyes coated in softness await him. His previous consideration is tossed out of his mind.  

“Look at me, and let your feet move naturally.”

He noticed Alec’s hazel eyes all those weeks ago, when they were far from being on good terms, but the way the freckles splashed in them shine in this sunlight makes him form a deep appreciation. Where they were once dim, with darkness feathering the edges, they now sparkle in the warmth of honey. It drizzles through his eyes, spreading out in waves to blend with light brown.

And Alec’s height is also more prominent than ever. Magnus is one to tower over people, but here’s Alec, a full head over him. And yet, Magnus doesn’t feel vulnerable—at least not in a negative way. He feels his soul divulging it’s form as the days pass, and he’s unnerved in how comfortable he is. Magnus has never felt that level of contentment around anyone before. And the thought terrifies him.

He doesn’t see Alec as intimidating or overwhelming. Alec does everything in his power to make Magnus feel like an equal—in the way he looks at Magnus, in the way he leaves room between their bodies but still offers copious amounts of support.

Alec laughs lightly at Magnus’ overt staring, a sound he will never tire of hearing. It’s when Magnus’ eyes flit down to Alec’s lips, a natural movement to watch the way they form over his laughter, that Alec falters for the first time and halts their skating.  

“You did, um, really well.” Alec avoids his stare and clears his throat, his arms curling into his body. “You’re improving.”

Magnus notices the shift in demeanor, the way Alec’s arms are almost out of his grasps. He curses himself for pushing the boundary, for allowing his feelings to intercept his actions.

“Thank you,” Magnus says, nodding cautiously. The pit of his stomach, once fluttering, begins to lowly ache.

“Are you ready to try on your own?” Alec leans his head down enough to get in Magnus’ sphere of vision.

Magnus, always one to ease tension—even tension created by him—with humor, says, “If Alexander the Great believes I’m ready, then I most certainly am.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but his relaxed manner has dramatically altered into one of rigidness.  

“I’m going to move away now.” Alec waits for Magnus to remove his hands, which isn’t difficult seeing as Magnus was holding on only by his fingertips with how far Alec had moved. “Your muscles know what to do. Don’t overthink it.”

Despite the feeling of their exchanges shifting, Alec still offers kind and encouraging words. An action Magnus wholly appreciates after his slip up.

The first step Magnus takes on his own is shaky, standing itself posing great difficulty. But Magnus, with his competitiveness and need for perfection as motivation, refuses to ask for aid. He’s never admitted defeat, and he won’t start now.

He moves one foot slowly at a time, staring at the skates rather than what’s in front of him. Without Alec to steady him, there’s nobody to grab onto to prevent him from slamming his face into the ice. He repeats in his head to fall forwards, not backwards, with every shaky step.  

After a few minutes of uncertainty, but not falling, he gains a vote of confidence and propels his foot, allowing his body to relax and move freely. When that doesn’t end with ice being scattered across his coat, he continues to glide. And by the first skate around the water, his natural state of competition itches to reveal itself.

He looks up from his feet and spots Alec standing towards the edge of the water.

Alec is smiling, arms still crossed behind his back, but his form doesn’t harden his soft smile. Pride radiates from him, and Magnus boldly begins to make his way over.

“As you can see, Alexander, I’ve surpassed your level of skating and have ascended into the level of virtuoso. I apologize for having embarrassed you, but—”

Within his next boast and foot movement, Magnus’ back is flat on the ice and his head has struck the ground. Alec’s advice of falling forwards was obsolete.

“Magnus!”

In less than a beat, Alec is hovering over him. No longer is a smile accompanying his features, but rather worry paints his face. He kneels next to him, completely steady, his hand resting lightly on Magnus’ shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he stammers, searching Magnus’ face for injury with his own wide eyes.

Magnus can’t prevent laughter from bubbling. The fall hurt initially, both his back and head meeting the ice, but he finds the tension between them disappearing.

Alec stares at him, knitting his brows together. “Did you hit your head hard?”

“I’m fine, Alexander,” Magnus says between laughs.

Alec offers him his hand, and for the third time that day, Magnus takes it. This time, though, there’s no hesitation.  

Alec whispers something under his breath, too quiet for Magnus to catch it.

“Pardon?”

Alec freezes, his eyes widening. Panic paints his features. “Oh, nothing, it was nothing,” he falters, lifting his hand up and taking Magnus with him. He’s nervously avoiding eye contact but doesn’t separate their hands when Magnus has stood.

Magnus rebalances on the dastardly ice, his hand and weight being held by Alec. He looks at their intertwined fingers, his thumb touching his knuckles, free from scarring. Magnus wants to ask Alec to repeat himself, to explain his uneasiness, but his expression begs for Magnus to drop it.

 “I told you to fall forward,” he scolds. “You could have seriously injured yourself.”

“As I stated before, I’m fine. Don’t worry,” Magnus assures, offering a small smile. Both to promise his health, and to calm Alec’s nerves.

“I have three younger siblings. I’m always worrying.”

“To prevent further worry, help me over to the edge of the ice. I’m incredibly cold, and I want to take these death shoes off my feet.”

Magnus doesn’t want to stop skating, not really. But he can confess that he feels a bump growing on the back of his head and knows it’s safer to stop while his injuries are limited.

Alec leads him over to the dirt and releases their hands, where Magnus dramatically falls to the ground and sighs out of relief to break the tension. The sudden lack of heat from their hands entwined leaves a chill. Alec eyes him worriedly, Magnus physically feeling his scrutinizing stare.

“Are you sure your head is fine?” Alec worries, about to step off the ice.

“Don’t stop skating on my behalf, Alexander. You go forth and prove your expertise. I’ll be fine.”

Alec doesn’t budge, so Magnus shoos him with his hands.

“You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to. I mean,” Alec squeezes his eyes together, a mannerism that Magnus has become accustomed to witnessing, “you can stay if you’d like. But I’m not good.”

“I was telling the truth about wanting to witness your greatness,” Magnus promises. “Although if it starts snowing, I will run to the fireplace immediately and leave you in the cold.”

Alec’s movements, once he’s stepped away from Magnus and into the center, are calculated. He’s not faltering in his steps, but he’s staring down at his skates, much like Magnus in the beginning. There’s little movement happening, just a few slow steps.

Magnus bends down to unlace his skates. This proves to be a difficult task once begun, since his ties are knots, and he most definitely tugged them too tightly. He swears he loosens the same knot over and over before any progress is made. It takes him a few frustrating minutes to navigate untangling the laces completely, but when he looks up in triumph, his breath gets caught in his throat.

Alec moves in easy strokes, his arms slightly held out, not in need of balance but in need of freedom. His body moves fluidly with his legs bending and straightening with each stroke. And even with his height, the wind propels his actions, not hindering his movements in any way.

Magnus can barely comprehend the patterns his feet are making. Behind him he leaves trails of ice, the blades digging ever so slightly to provide necessary traction. In one swift movement, he’s skating backwards, his arms extended again, each foot pushing behind the other.

On the next lap around the ice, he turns his body easily, his hips staying in line with his blades. His eyes are closed as he travels around the bend, his face devoid of any previous tension. He’s beautiful and elegant, only amplified by the way his hair blows lightly in the wind. He looks serene. At peace.

Like the leaf Magnus saw flying earlier, the wind and ice grants freedom. Alec is allowing his body to move to its own accord, the wind aiding in direction. And Magnus can’t help but stare in awe.

Alec slows to a stop across the ice from Magnus, his chest rising and falling quickly. A small smile forms across his frost-bitten cheeks, and he chuckles quietly to himself. It feels still for a moment, the snow acting as a barrier between them and the rest of the world.

As Alec soaks in the tranquility of the winds rustling lightly in the wind, he looks up to Magnus. And not for the first time that day, Magnus thinks how breathtakingly beautiful Alec is.

“Want to head inside to warm up?”

* * *

 

Alec trails behind Magnus to the fireplace. Nobody else seems to be around, and the fire is already in full force, the crackling filling the empty room. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it up, the coat hanger shaking off any ice clinging to the fabric.

Magnus is already sitting in front of the fireplace on the carpet. There are seats available, but he chooses to sit with his back against the footrest. Alec looks fondly on as Magnus rubs his hands together and presses them closer to the fire.

He contemplates where to sit. When he sits by the fire, it’s never accompanied by happiness or joy. He’s in the large, creaking armchair and allows himself to get lost in the fire. The bright colors emitted engulfs his eyes, and the noise drowns out his thoughts.

But this is different. He doesn’t want to sit away from Magnus. He craves to be close to him; not touching, but in his space. He opts for sitting on the footrest, hoping to appear nonchalant. Alec is positive that if he were any closer to Magnus, he would be able to hear his heart beating quickly in his chest.

“I had fun today,” Magnus says, facing the fireplace. “Although my tailbone and head don’t agree.”

Alec sighs, similarly to when his siblings present their problems to him that could have easily been prevented if they had listened to his advice. “I thought you said you felt fine?”

“I do!” His hand goes up to touch the back of his head. “But the bump on my head says otherwise.”

“Magnus, that could be serious. How hard did you hit the ice?”

“Alexander,” Magnus encourages, turning around to face him. His cheeks are flush from the heat of the fire, but Alec knows if he reached out and ran his thumb across his nose, it would still be cold from the wind. “I didn’t hit my head hard. Bumps and bruises happen. If I start to feel ill, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Alec revels in the way both his name and the word promise leaves Magnus’ tongue. He can’t find steadiness in his thoughts to acknowledge Magnus’ words with his own, so he nods his head.

Magnus twists back around and begins to tap his fingers lightly against the footrest instead of watching the crackling fire before him. Alec watches his movements, swift and fluid. It’s something Alec has noticed about Magnus. Magnus’ legs move smoothly, each step completely sure and with purpose. But he somehow remains light on his feet, his gentle aura still evident.

Alec had assumed Magnus would thrive on ice as he does elsewhere, but it didn’t necessarily translate. He was far better than Alec was when he first stepped foot on the slippery ground. Alec almost hoped that he would excel, because having Magnus hold onto him and falling into him was a lot to handle.

With every touch, every brush of their hands, Alec grew more anxious. But different from the normal chest ache he felt when faced with anxiety, he felt alive. Every touch he felt was intensified, his body acutely aware of Magnus’ touch.

Alec was able to watch his face as he stared down at his skates, and his heart physically ached seeing him stick out tongue in determination. His brows were knit together in concentration, and his features showed the cogs spinning in his mind.

When Magnus fell, and Alec heard the meeting of his body against the ice, he couldn’t reach him fast enough. The fear he felt in his bones was powerful, his mind displaying pictures of Magnus falling through the ice, the surface cracking at the sudden force pushed upon it. Luckily, Magnus was able to laugh it off, leaving Alec on the ice by himself.

He hadn’t skated in years. He forgot how much unfiltered joy and freedom he felt, his eyes watering and the cold nipping at his heels. And though Alec thought about it often, he always felt too guilty to go skating while the others, condemned by the same curse and given the far shorter stick, don’t have that option available.

But today, he felt liberated. He forgot about his looming birthday, forgot about the ever-fragile rose, forgot about his absent parents. Everything was put on hold as the air streamed through him, invading every vein and washing out his tension.

And when he found Magnus watching him intently, he felt no embarrassment or shame. Unalike from those who stare out of fear, Magnus wasn’t fixated on his scars or his horns; he saw who Alec was past his exterior.

“I felt free,” Alec whispers. Magnus lifts his head up and turns, his knees curled while his arms hug them tightly. “I haven’t felt that way in years. Thank you.”

Magnus smiles warmly. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. You allowed yourself to be honest and uninhibited, and your soul recognized that. All I did was stumble every other step and almost cracked the ice in the process.”

Alec shakes his head. Magnus isn’t aware of the immense impact he has on others. He grants complete unreserved interaction, and the lightness Alec felt deep in his chest was a result of his compassion. His humanity is the reason for the stillness of the world, for the only calm he’s felt in years.

“I told him that the pink in your cheeks would make your eyes stand out,” Alec admits, his soft voice barely reaching his own ears.

Magnus tilts his head, Alec’s heart constricting. “Pardon?”

“Phillippe. I was predicting what would happen. I told him you would get cold on the ice and would migrate inside, but that the pink in your cheeks would make your eyes stand out.” A shaky breath passes through his open lips.

Magnus’ mouth opens slightly, his eyes searching Alec’s face.

“And were you correct?”

“I was.”

Alec all but holds his breath, and then a bashful smile forms on Magnus’ face. He looks at Alec from underneath his eyelashes.

“Your secrets safe with me,” Magnus promises quietly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, the plumpness obvious in the firelight.

A few silent moments pass between them, their eyes locked. Magnus lets out a light laugh, his head shaking slightly out of disbelief. And then he turns back, sliding onto the ground, propping his head up on the footrest. His hair is inches from where Alec’s fingers are resting.

His heart beats sporadically, sweat forming on his brow not from the fire but Magnus. It’s the first time that Alec allowed himself to truly acknowledge Magnus’ feelings. And the idea terrifies him, that Magnus could possibly feel the same warmth passing between them.

Alec takes a slow breath in and out, and then moves his fingers an inch and rubs a lock of Magnus’ hair between them, noting the softness. He sees Magnus’ shoulders tense and expects him to move away, but he relaxes again, staying in Alec’s reach. He hopes Magnus can’t feel the way his fingers are trembling.

Alec takes the strand of hair, passing it between his thumb and forefinger. Alec’s heart begs for him to move closer while his head screams to prevent this from going any further, to stop Alec’s future heartbreak. But nothing in his life has felt as natural as this simple intimacy with Magnus.

Nothing in his life has felt as natural as falling for Magnus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHH aren't they freakin cute?? Oh boy I LOVED writing this chapter. 
> 
> Leave a kudos or a comment (it seriously helps more than you'll know--every time I felt uninspired or felt like deleting this story, I reread all the comments and immediately felt so happy and grateful), or come talk to me at 'doddario' on tumblr!! I love you all so much, hope to update again soon xxx

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is "doddario" !!! And please if you enjoyed, leave a quick comment!! It means the absolute world to me. Come and talk to me, I'd love to hear from you xxxx


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